No One To Keep Me Warm
by nubianamy
Summary: After Finn's death, Puck gets an unexpected second chance to correct past mistakes. Puck/Finn. Cowritten with Gleeful Canuck.
1. Summer 2014

_(Authors' note: We've been wanting to write together again ever since finishing The Person Falling Here is Me. This story prompt has been sitting in my gdocs for months, but neither of us felt ready to tackle it until now. Puck angst aplenty. While this story does include discussion of Finn's death and vaguely suicidal thoughts from Puck, we want you to know the Puck/Finn relationship is still central to the plot. Also, while this is not a polyamorous story, consider that I am not capable of writing a simple relationship. There's a little Puck/OMC here, but you can guess if you know me that there's the chance of there being rather a lot of that in this story. Happy Pinn Week(end), and there is so much more to come. - amy and ca_babs)_

* * *

Of course, Finn's death was the worst thing that could have happened. But it didn't really get bad for Puck until Coach Beiste resigned. That winter, Puck and Finn had gotten in the habit of coming over to her house to watch football, and after Finn died he just kept coming back, even though football season was over. Puck didn't exactly feel welcome at the Hudson-Hummel house anymore, and being home alone was worse than that, so he'd just show up at the Coach's house sometimes. She'd let him in, offer him a place on the couch and a bag of chips, and they'd toss harmless insults back and forth, not talking about what was heavy on their hearts.

Until one day, when he came over, and he could see a stack of boxes behind her in the hallway. The grim look on her face told him everything he needed to know. He just turned right around and retreated to his old rusty truck, ignoring the footsteps that followed him.

"Noah," she called. "It's - there's another job, in Houston. It's close to my sister."

"Fuck you," he muttered. He wasn't going to stand there in her doorway and explain why she _couldn't_ leave, why he needed her there more than ever, because there was nobody left to believe in him anymore. He wasn't going to say anything like that, because she didn't need to hear that shit from a Lima loser like him. He climbed into the cab, slammed the door, and pulled out of her driveway fast enough to leave skid marks on the pavement.

He was pretty sure she wouldn't really judge him for reacting that way. Not the way everybody else had judged him. Kurt still looked at Puck like he was something disgusting on the bottom of his stylish shoe. Quinn wouldn't even answer his emails anymore, and Shelby was clearly uncomfortable with him visiting Beth. And Finn's mom... as nice as she still was whenever they ran into one another, she couldn't get him out of her sight fast enough.

She never said she blamed him, not in so many words, but Puck was pretty sure she did. He sure as fuck blamed himself for how Finn's college experience had gone down. Even after Puck had sworn to help him keep on task, to do well in his classes, they'd mostly partied and drank their way through winter semester, along with the rest of their fraternity. Puck had spent plenty of hours since then running alternate scenarios through his head, thinking how things could have been different if he'd insisted on Finn saving his money instead of buying more beer, if he'd cut him off after the second one, if he'd been there that night to wake him up when he -

Coach Beiste was calling him on his cell, but he wasn't going to answer it. He switched it off and tossed it on the floor of the passenger seat, turning his music up loud over the noise of the failing transmission. The truck wasn't going to last much longer, but he didn't have any money left over from last year's pool cleaning account to pay for repairs. It was too early in the season to start calling his clients or advertising for new ones. Puck wasn't sure he even wanted to stick around Lima this summer - not without Finn, and not when everything in this town reminded Puck of him. It wasn't like the weekly pay was that great anyway; the majority of his profits came at the end of the summer, preparing the pools for winter and receiving bonuses for his "other" services over the course of the summer. Fuck it if he was sticking around that long and doing that shit this year. He'd been thinking about that a lot, and he still hadn't come up with an option that felt satisfactory.

Puck realized he had steered his truck over to Schuester's place, which kind of made sense. Mr. Schue and Puck had never had that same quasi father-son relationship he and Finn had shared, but if Finn had trusted him so much, maybe Puck should try to talk to the guy about what he should do next. Puck still felt a little pissed at him, considering their last interaction had consisted of Schue insinuating that Puck had stolen Finn's jacket. Sure, Puck had been a bit of a screw up - maybe a lot of a screw up. But it was like no one noticed he wasn't that same asshole Puck from sophomore year anymore. Hell, he wasn't even the same guy he'd been at the beginning of junior year. There were so many things that had changed him, made him a better person. He'd thought being part of Glee club was one reason for that, even if it wasn't the biggest reason.

Mr. Schuester looked as surprised as Puck felt when he answered the door. "Puck, what are you doing here?" He shook his head. "I mean, what can I do for you?"

Puck looked down at his sneakers, feeling suddenly that this had been a huge mistake. "Um, Finn always talked about how you were a good person for him to talk to? And I know you and I never quite saw eye to eye like you and he did, but... I could use some advice."

Puck looked up in time to see Mr. Schue's face soften into a weak, sad smile. "Of course, Puck, I'm sorry. Why don't you come in?" Mr. Schue moved away from the entrance and allowed Puck to step inside. "Let me hang up your jacket. Why don't you go in and have a seat." He nodded towards the sofa in the living room.

Puck looked at the possible places to sit, and chose one of the chairs. He smiled a little at the perfectly arranged magazines on the coffee table and resisted the urge to mess them up just for the fun of it. The pictures were hung perfectly, too, the photos displayed on the mantle all in matching frames and spaced evenly apart.

Mr. Schue sat down on the sofa, on the end closest to Puck. "How are you doing?"

Puck gave him a _how do you think I'm doing_ look. "I gotta say, I've been better."

"Yeah, I think we're all feeling a little bit of that."

_Not like me,_ Puck wanted to say. _I was his best friend. Nobody fucking feels like I do._ But even he knew that wasn't the right thing to say when you were asking somebody for help, so he just nodded back, trying to be calm. "I guess I'm feeling a little stuck. Like, I don't know what I can do next that wouldn't - " He paused, feeling the catch in his throat that sometimes snuck up on him at the stupidest moments, and swallowed.

Mr. Schue nodded sympathetically. "I don't think anyone expects you to make a big decision right now. There's nothing wrong with just sticking around with your family and friends while you figure out where you want to go next."

"I'm not sure I can stick around here much longer, though," Puck admitted. "This place is crammed full of memories - thirteen years of memories. He's been there, like my right hand, for two-thirds of my life. It's still a little surreal to realize he's no longer here. Like, he isn't just going to pop up when I least expect it." He blinked his eyes a couple of times, feeling tears pricking at the edges.

But Puck apparently wasn't the only one struggling with his feelings. He watched Mr. Schue take a moment to compose himself before going on. "Yes, well... obviously everyone who knew Finn is on edge. It's easy to fall back on old habits."

Puck wondered if Mr. Schue was referring to the jacket being stolen. It wasn't exactly an apology, if he was. He tried not to glare at him. "I just feel like everybody's moving on, and I can't. It's like nobody _cares_ about Finn anymore."

"Puck, that's not true. I think it's just that people have too many other things happening. Like it or not, they _have_ to move on."

That was even more of a slap in the face. _Like I don't have other things?_ he wanted to snap - but of course he didn't. He didn't have anything else, because he was nothing but a Lima loser hanging on to memories of his fucking best friend. He fidgeted uncomfortably. "Did you, uh, hear about Coach Beiste?"

"Do you mean about her new job?" He nodded, sighing. "Yeah. She'll really be missed, but this is a good opportunity for her. I think she's had the hardest time of any of us, other than Rachel."

Puck gritted his teeth. He'd had about enough of this. "And me," he spat. "What about me?"

Schue looked stricken. "Well - uh, of course, you were his - but Rachel, I mean, they were -"

"You have no fucking idea what you're _talking_ about," he shouted. Mr. Schue drew back, bracing himself on the couch with one trembling hand.

Ms. Pillsbury - _Mrs. Schuester_ - appeared in the doorway, her face set.

"Noah," she said evenly. "You're getting a little worked up. I think you might want to show yourself out."

"Fine." Puck headed for the door. Clearly this had been a mistake. "Thanks for nothing!"

He opened the closet near the door to get his jacket. Never in a million years would he have been prepared for what he saw. Hanging in the hall closet, right next to his own leather bomber, was a McKinley letterman jacket. Not just anybody's jacket - but _Finn's_ letterman jacket.

Puck yanked it off the hanger, clutching it tightly in his left hand. He caught a faint whiff of a scent he recognized as Finn's, and he paused a moment to inhale it, to take it in before it was gone - and then he was _raging,_ abandoning himself to the emotion of what Mr. Schue had accused him of and what _he_ had actually done.

"You fucking hypocrite!" Puck shoved himself back into the doorway. "You accused me of taking this and what, you had it all along?" He moved quickly across the room again and, before he really knew what was happening, his right fist was connecting with Mr. Schue's jaw, the jacket cradled protectively in his arm. Puck couldn't even bring himself to feel guilty, witnessing Mrs. Schuester's shocked expression. Mr. Schue, on the other hand, appeared anguished as he sat there rubbing at his jaw.

"You better believe I'm taking it." Puck held up the jacket. "Go ahead and accuse me all you want now." He turned on his heel and stormed out of the house.

* * *

The next day, Puck spent the majority of the day going through his things. He had three piles: a pile to keep, a pile to store somewhere, and a pile of stuff to trash. There wasn't much he needed to store. The pile consisted of his yearbooks, some photos, his electric guitar and amp, and his letterman jacket. Finn's letterman jacket, of course, was in the keep pile, despite how big and bulky it was; so was his acoustic guitar. Puck was hoping he might have some items of value kicking around, things he could sell or pawn to help get his truck back in working shape. The truck itself wasn't worth much, but Puck couldn't sell it anyway; it was his ticket out of this hellhole town.

_Unless,_ Puck thought, _I sell the truck for what little cash I can get and buy a one way bus ticket to anywhere else._ Maybe Jake or Ryder would be willing to buy his truck. At least if it was one of the current New Direction kids, Mr Hummel might still be willing to work with them on keeping it running on the cheap. Puck grabbed the bag and box of items to trash, stopping by the dumpster behind his mom's apartment building to toss them, and then headed for his truck.

It was good, Puck thought, that he was stopping by to see Jake. He didn't want to completely abandon the guy, not when they'd only just found out about each other. But the truth was, even his own family wasn't enough of a draw to keep Puck in Lima. Not anymore.

When Puck pulled up in front of the small bungalow Jake lived in with his mom, Puck couldn't help but notice quite a few familiar cars on the street.

"Puck!" Jake exclaimed happily when he opened the door. "Come in, come in."

Puck allowed himself to be pulled into the house by his brother, smiling slightly at his enthusiasm. "Are you having a party or something?" Puck asked. He could hear voices somewhere else in the house.

"Nah, just a couple of the Glee guys are over," Jake said. "Sam, Blaine, and Ryder."

He nodded. "Gaming marathon?"

Jake shook his head at the same moment that Ryder came jogging out into the entryway.

"Dude, you have to see these ones," Ryder gasped. His face was red and he was laughing between breaths. "Oh, hey, Puck. You've got to see this too."

"What's going on?" Puck asked.

"Blaine and Sam showed up this morning with the 'Kurt approved' tuxes for the wedding," Jake explained. "Ryder and I have been giving them some 'constructive' feedback. I mean, did Kurt seriously think Sam would wear some of these? I thought they lived together last year."

Puck shook his head, exhaling loudly. "They're picking out tuxes?"

"What's the hold up?" Sam called.

"Doesn't anyone remember that his fucking brother just died?" Puck screamed. He grabbed Sam by the lapels and began to shake him. "Can't the Happy Dapper Rainbow wedding planning shit wait? I don't understand how Kurt could possibly want to think about the wedding at this point when his best man won't be there." He gave Sam a shove against the banister.

"Actually," Blaine said calmly, appearing from around the corner, "Kurt said he'll just use the girls as attendants now and we won't worry about having to balance things out."

"_Kurt said."_ Puck shook his head. "Am I the only one that _cares_ that Finn is dead? Because it's really starting to seem like it." Puck stared at the group of guys in front of him. "You know what, forget it. I'm out of here."

He slammed the door behind himself and hopped up into the cab of his truck. "My own brother," he muttered, "all caught up in that wedding nonsense instead of mourning a truly great guy. No, fuck it, Jakes's not my brother. Finn's the only brother I ever had. He's the only one I needed."

_Never mind those thoughts that weren't so brotherly,_ his mind retorted.

He revved the engine, gritting his teeth. It wasn't worth thinking about that stuff. Now that Finn was gone, none of it mattered anyway.

* * *

At least Puck had enough luck that when the old beast of a truck stuttered to a halt this time, he was right in front of the garage. And not just any garage, but Hummel's.

Most of the interior lights were off, but Puck went up to the side entrance anyway, tucking his keys into the pocket of his leather bomber. Sometimes Mr. Hummel was there after hours. Puck just needed a chance to put it up on the lift and take a look underneath, and he could probably fix whatever was wrong himself.

He barely thought about what he was doing before he punched in the numbers onto the electronic keypad and let himself in. Hummel hadn't changed the code since the last time he and Finn were picking up a couple extra bucks, doing oil changes on weekends when Hummel's part time guy had moved out of town.

Puck hit the lights on the floor, then opened the front bay door, just high enough so he could push the silent truck inside. Once he had the hood up, it was easy enough to diagnose the busted distributor cap. He didn't even need to put it on the lift. The problem might be obvious, but the solution wasn't so clear.

On the chair next to the cash register was a set of coveralls. Puck considered pulling them on over his jeans and t-shirt before he realized what name was on the pocket. He fingered the stitching of the word _Finn_ in script letters, trying to feel anything other than numb.

Burt had always kept parts in stock for Kurt's Navigator and Finn's mom's sedan, and his Chevy wasn't any different. Puck stood there next to the shelf where they kept the parts, looking them for longer than he needed to find the right piece. It was easy to pick it up the new cap and replace the broken one, easy to toss the damaged part in the trash, but not at all easy to consider the ramifications of his actions. So he didn't.

He started his truck up, backed it up through the bay door - and then got out again, shut the lights out and closed the door. Everything was exactly where it had been before he'd arrived, except for that one missing distributor cap.

Puck had only driven half a block before he came back a second time, letting himself back in through the side door, and took the rest of the parts Burt had set aside for his truck. _What the fuck,_ he thought, steeling himself against the guilt. _He won't miss them._

* * *

Puck thought he understood better what a slippery slope was, after that. It was just as easy to use the old garage codes to let himself in to former clients' sheds and houses as it had been to break into Hummel's garage. It was like it was impossible _not_ to do it. It was almost as though he didn't have a choice, it felt so inevitable.

Once he started taking things from their houses - not anything big, nothing that would be easily noticed - he had to find ways to get rid of them. There wasn't anything major enough that he'd have to worry about it being hard to dispose of, but he tried not to visit the pawn shop in Wapakoneta more than once in a week. He wasn't collecting a lot of cash on his small items, but it was faster, easier than finding an actual job in a town he no longer gave two shits about. Some places, though, Puck was lucky enough to find extra cash just laying around, and that he pocketed without a thought.

He wouldn't have done any of this when he'd had them as clients, but now it felt practically justified. _You thought I was just another Lima loser, and you know what? Maybe I am. Fuck you. Fuck you all._

It was the sign on the side of the road near exit 111 in Wapakoneta that got him thinking about trading in the truck for a bike. _Spring's here,_ it said, _why be inside? BMW k1200rs, $2k OBO, _and a phone number. The motorcycle was a touring bike, with the kind of shiny chrome that Puck found obnoxious but looked awesome anyway. He didn't spend more than a few minutes looking it over, but it was enough to tell him it was sound - a damn sight better condition than his truck, that was for sure.

Once the bike was in place in his imagination, the other pieces started to settle in beside it. He could head south; fuck Ohio winter. He always got sick of the stupid Christmas season anyway. It had been Finn's favorite holiday. The last thing he wanted to do was live through another Christmas in Lima.

* * *

Puck thought it was pretty ironic, remembering all of the time he'd spent counting down the days until graduation and ditching classes - and yet, now, when things were at their worst, he was back on McKinley grounds.

He headed to the tree they had erected for Finn, the tree Puck had _stolen_ at one point, before he'd been made to return it under Bieste's careful eye. That silly little tree, with the word QUARTERBACK engraved down the trunk and underneath, with the bronze plaque embedded in the dirt.

It wasn't the only marker bearing Finn's name in Lima, but it was the only one Puck could stomach looking at. The other one, the one in the cemetery, bore some platitude about how Finn was a devoted son, a beloved brother, a missed teammate, his life gone too soon. Puck wasn't about to risk running into anyone else in the cemetery. Or, worse, to see the dead flowers from the memorial and know _no one _had been there since then.

Puck sat down on the grass in front of the little plaque and let his fingers run over the letters of Finn's name. Suddenly, everything about it was too short: his name not long enough to really capture everything he embodied, the dates, that damn line, too brief for all the good he could have done, for all the good he _had_ done.

Puck was so lost in his melancholy that he didn't hear the crunch of the gravel behind him. It wasn't until he found himself seated in a tall shadow that he realized he wasn't alone anymore.

"I could ask you what you're doing here,_ again_," Sue Sylvester said with her usual sneer, "but frankly, I don't care. I don't know why all of you _graduates_ think you can come waltzing back here like you own the place, any old time you want. This isn't some diner or coffee shop where you can come hang out."

"You know why I'm here." Puck rose to his feet. He walked over and leaned against the wire mesh around the field. "And I'm not hanging out in your precious school."

"That's the worst part of it!" Sue exclaimed. "At least if you were loitering in the school, I wouldn't have to deal with the concerned citizens of Lima calling about a possible predator on school grounds."

"I'm not a fucking predator," Puck snarled.

"Says the barely-a-man who knocked up my head cheerleader when he was all of what, sixteen years old?" Sue asked. "Besides, I also happen to have it on good authority, and by that I mean video surveillance, that you left this year's Sadie Hawkins dance with another one of my cheerleaders, Puckerman. And this time you might be legal, but _she_ sure wasn't."

Images flooded Puck's brain of that Sadies Hawkins dance. Puck had only gone because Finn was chaperoning. When Finn returned to the dance with Sam and Blaine in tow, the three of them had looked like the fucking cat that got the cream. They'd instantly been swamped by a shrieking Tina and grateful Artie and Marley. Puck hadn't even bother to figure out why they were all so happy before ditching them. And then there was Kitty, who'd seemed hell bent on destroying his little brother's relationship. Kitty, who'd looked and acted so much like queen bee bitch Quinn. Leaving the dance with her, right under Finn's nose, had had Puck feeling like he had stepped back in time.

Puck blanched, looking up at the cheerleading coach turned principal-dictator. "Kitty said she was 16."

"Might want to start IDing your conquests then, Puckerman, before you really end up in some trouble." Sue regarded him coolly. "As it is, you leave me no choice. If I catch you on school property again, I'm calling the cops. And I'll turn over that video footage."

"My brother goes to school here," Puck yelled. "Some of my friends still go to school here."

"See your brother on your own time," Sue said. "You and I both know the only friend you had at McKinley is no longer here. There's no good reason for you to be either."

That stung a lot more than it should have. He didn't need Sue Sylvester's approval, no matter what, but he knew she was probably right. Nobody wanted him here. There was nothing left in Lima for him.

* * *

Even though Puck's plan when leaving Lima was to go south, there was one more detour he felt he needed to make. Quinn hadn't returned to Lima for the funeral, or even the Glee Club memorial for Finn, and she wasn't responding to his emails or returning his calls. That didn't stop him from sending her a text as he rode out of town towards New Haven, Connecticut.

**left Lima, 2 much 2 take  
****on my way to u  
****u better be there**

There was no reply text from Quinn at Puck's first stop in Youngstown, nor at the second in Lewisburg, but shortly before the third time Puck stopped, this time in Parsippany, Quinn finally replied with an address and a request for him to text her once he arrived on the Yale campus.

It was nearing midnight when Puck pulled up in front of the address Quinn had sent. He found her seated on the steps of the old brick building, her arms folded on her knees.

"When did you trade in your truck for a bike?" she called, not bothering with a greeting.

"Couple weeks ago. That truck was a piece of shit I was tired of constantly repairing." He hoisted his bag out of the storage bin and unclipped his guitar from the second seat. "The bike is cheaper, and it's bad ass. Plus I travel light anyway."

Quinn snaked an arm around Puck's waist as she led him inside the dorm. "Seems like you might be travelling just a little heavy."

He ignored her, craning his neck to look around in every direction. "Shit, Q. Look at this place. You've done good."

Quinn shrugged. "I like it here. I like that no one knows me. Come on, let's get you settled."

It wasn't until they were in her dorm, lying facing one another on her small bed, that Quinn spoke again.

"So how are you really doing?"

Puck closed his eyes. There was no way he was going to hide from her - and he'd known it would be that way. "How do you think I'm doing? I just sold or garbaged about everything I had and got rid of my truck for a bike, all so I could get out of Lima. I can't stay there anymore, Q. He's everywhere in that damn town."

"I feel bad for everyone who's still there," Quinn said softly. "The ones that don't have somewhere else to go, somewhere that isn't filled with memories."

He sighed. "I mean, I only came back to Lima anyway for Jake, to meet him, to help set him straight. I only _ever _stayed this long because of Finn."

"So are you heading back to California? If so, I'm sorry you came so far out of your way."

"I'm not going back to California." The yawn nearly split his face in two. "Sorry, Quinn. It's been a long day."

"Sure." She got up off the bed and went over to the closet and pulled out a couple of things. "I can sleep on the floor."

Puck shook his head. "I'm not going to kick you out of your bed."

"And I'm not going to make you sleep on the floor, after you spent all day on a motorcycle."

"I know the bed is small, but I'm ok with sharing if you are."

Quinn regarded him in silence from the doorway. Finally, she nodded. "Yeah, okay. We can share. I'm just going to go change in the bathroom."

By the time Quinn came back, in a Yale tee shirt and a pair of shorts, Puck had swapped out his own sweaty clothes for an undershirt and clean boxers. He scooted over to the edge, leaving as much room as possible for Quinn on the little bed. She sat down, her hands folded primly in her lap.

"We're just going to sleep," she told him.

"Yeah. Of course." He didn't bother to look offended at the suggestion that he would expect otherwise, and patted the bed next to himself. She crawled in under the covers, with no space between them. When she rested her head against his, he hugged her, maybe a little bit desperately.

"Oh, Puck," she sighed. Her soft hand rested on the back of his head.

"This really sucks," he whispered. "I don't know what to do."

"You're doing everything you can do."

_Yeah,_ Puck thought. He closed his eyes. _And it's not going to be enough._

* * *

The tiny diner wasn't far off campus. The waffles weren't homemade, but they weren't bad, and the coffee was even better than that. They both finished their coffee before paying the bill and leaving. Puck took her hand as they walked.

"I've got to know; why didn't you come back for the funeral or the memorial?" he asked.

"I don't know, Puck," Quinn said sadly. She closed her eyes against his harsh stare. "I guess in some ways, I said goodbye to Finn a long time ago."

"How can you even say that, Quinn?" Puck asked. "Sure, you guys haven't dated in years, but I thought you still considered him a friend. I know he still considered you one. And he'd be so proud, seeing you here, like this."

"Puck, don't," Quinn warned, holding up a weary hand. "Don't make me feel guilty about this."

"What? Don't make you feel guilty about not coming back to pay your respects to the guy you almost saddled with a baby in high school?"

She mirrored his glare. "Finn and I had already moved past that. My not coming back... it had nothing to do with what had happened between us."

He crossed his arms, feeling the rage flare up again. "How can everyone just move on like this? It's like no one even cared about him at all."

"Puck, that's not true."

"It is!" Puck exclaimed. "He loved everyone; he would have done anything for any of us. All we had to do was ask. And now it's like you guys don't even recognize he's gone. He's gone and he's never coming back. Why doesn't anyone _care?"_

"We care, Puck." Quinn stopped walking, placing a hand on his arm. He had no choice but to stop, too. "If it seems like we're moving on, it's because we're doing what we need to do, to take care of ourselves. You need to take care of yourself too, Puck."

He shook his head vigorously. "We've always taken care of each other. And obviously I didn't do my job, because - well, look who's not here now."

Quinn blinked at Puck a few times. "Do you really blame yourself for his death?"

Puck didn't reply, his eyes closed against the stinging tears that he refused to let fall. The lump in his throat felt like it was the size of a baseball.

She sighed. "I don't know the details, but I doubt it was your fault." The tone in her voice made Puck open his eyes. "I know he... I mean, it doesn't exactly take a genius to see... well, the two of you were just always so... so _close. _Not all of us are lucky enough to find that special kind of relationship like you and Finn had."

Puck nodded. "He was my best friend. Brothers from another mother."

"Wasn't it more than that, though?" Quinn pressed. "Right? I mean, I don't know when exactly I noticed it, but at some point it became obvious."

His eyes slid away uneasily. "What do you mean?"

"It wasn't just friendship, Puck. We were all friends in high school, but how close are we now? And it hasn't even been a year."

"So?" Puck shot back. "Finn and I were friends before high school. Before Glee."

"Exactly," Quinn said. "And even with everyone's plans and decisions at the end of senior year; I never had any doubt - I don't think any of us did - that no matter what, you and Finn would continue to be in each other's lives." When he started walking again, Quinn followed him. "When you thought about the future, Puck, did you think you'd ever settle down?"

"I dunno. I mean, it's not like I feel the need to have kids, as long as I get to be in Beth's life somehow. And it's not like I've ever done well with long-term relationships."

"Except Finn," Quinn said pointedly.

Puck snorted. "That's not a _relationship. _ He's my bro."

"And the only person I could ever see you settling down with, in any way, was him," she went on. "I know how special he was to you, how important. You wouldn't have let him do anything that would have cost him his life."

"I - I don't know where you're going with this, Fabray," Puck warned, "but -"

"You loved him, Puck. And not just because he was your friend. You loved him more than I think you've ever loved anyone else."

"Fuck, _yeah,_ I loved him!" he shouted. He turned angrily on her, but she stood her ground.

"That's kind of my point. No matter what, you guys got past everything. Because of how you felt for each other."

"No!" He jabbed a finger at her chest. "You don't get to talk about his feelings. You don't get to project those onto him. You didn't know him like I did. I know how he felt about me - or in this case, how he _didn't _feel about me. It's hard enough to get past him being gone, let alone trying to figure in some impossible dream." Puck pulled his sunglasses out of his coat pocket and jammed them over his eyes. "Fuck this. I'm out of here."

* * *

Puck spent the rest of the morning on I-95 heading southwest, the throttle choked up as high as he could get it, hunched over the handlebars like he was trying to outrun the conversation he'd left behind. How had Quinn known? Had Finn told her what had happened? He couldn't stop replaying the memory of the expression on Finn's face.

And what if Puck had pushed him? What if he'd said to Finn, _what about that night on your couch? That seemed pretty fucking gay to me._ But he hadn't. He hadn't, and the moment had been lost, and now... there would never _be_ any more moments. All he had were memories, and questions.

By the time he made it to Long Island, he'd reached a decision. There was no way the memories would ever be anything more than what they were, but the questions... he could think of one way to get some possible answers.

He wound his way into the city, through Brooklyn and across the bridge into downtown, and found a place to park his bike, shouldering his guitar and his bag and depositing them on the floor next to the lunch counter at the Skylight Diner.

"I need to pick up a guy," he announced. "Where do I go in this town to do that?"

The startled waitress at the counter stammered out a useless response. Puck sighed. "Forget it. Just get me a reuben."

He found the guy next to him giving him a sideways glance while he drank the coffee the woman brought to him. Puck finally turned and glared at him.

"What?" he snapped.

"Nothing," the guy said easily. "I just heard what you asked Monica. She's not going to know where the gay bars are."

"And you do?"

The guy shrugged. "I know them as well as anybody. Depends on what you're looking for, I guess."

Puck fixed his stare on his coffee cup. "I don't even know. I guess I figure I'll know it when I see it."

"Makes sense." He sat back, straightening his cobalt blue tie. Now Puck was the one watching him out of the corner of his eye. "So... not me, then?"

Puck narrowed his gaze. "No. Not you." _He was taller. Taller, and your hair's too soft, and your hands are too small. _He hunched into his jacket.

"No problem. Well, I can give you directions to a couple places. The G Lounge on West 19th. It won't be open for a few hours, but..." He stood up, reaching into his jacket, and pulled out a pen. "You got a place to be until then?"

For a moment, Puck thought about calling Kurt and Rachel and Santana. He knew they'd kill him if they found out he'd been in New York and hadn't bothered to look them up. But the last thing he needed right now was a glimpse of their successful lives, the way they were moving on without Finn. He shrugged. "Not really."

"You can come with me back to my office. I don't work too far from the Village."

The invitation sounded innocuous, but Puck wasn't stupid. He knew what the guy meant, and even though Puck was pretty sure he could enforce a no-means-no if he had to, he figured he'd better get really fucking clear about what he was doing. He took a deep breath.

"I'm not into guys. But there was a guy. One guy. And we had - there was a thing. And I just have to know -"

"It's all right," the guy said softly. He put out a hand, not for Puck to take, but to steady him, as though Puck were about to lose his grip on the edge of the lunch counter and topple over. "Here. I'll be there working all afternoon."

His hand rested in Puck's for a moment. When he moved away, Puck was holding a receipt with an address written on it. The guy nodded at him, picking up his briefcase, and headed for the door.

There was a moment of _what the fuck are you doing, Puckerman,_ but that didn't last very long, not in the wake of the memory of Finn's mouth on his, and the bitter taste of regret.

"Hey," he called. "Wait up."

* * *

Puck didn't have a second helmet, so he just let the guy find his own way home. He followed the directions the guy had given him, parked his bike around the corner, and waited in the alley next to his building for him to show up. He wondered if he should ask for the guy's name, or if it would be easier if he didn't know.

Standing there with his hands in his pockets, watching the guy unlock his door, felt remarkably familiar. He'd done this before, a dozen times a summer, with every goddam MILF with a pool in Lima. This guy was just another one of those: another distraction from his fucked-up life, from all the things he couldn't have. He felt a rush of self-hatred. What did he think he was going to learn that he didn't already know? Finn was dead, and what Puck had left wasn't worth the parts he'd stolen from Hummel's garage.

"I'm not gay," he said, maybe a little too loudly. But the guy just smiled at him, nodding, and opened the door, and Puck followed him inside.

"You can set down your guitar in there," he called from the hallway, taking off his tie.

It was small, and more like a studio apartment than an office, but Puck could tell the guy actually did work here. His desk was strewn with papers, and the laptop was open and running a spreadsheet application. Puck paused by the couch beside the desk, then took off his leather bomber and left it there.

The guy turned to him, holding out a tumbler half-full of amber liquid. Puck shook his head. He watched the guy drink, his throat bobbing as he swallowed, and resisted wiping his sweaty hands on his jeans. The guy poured another half-glass and set it on the table next to the couch, then set the bottle next to the glass.

"I'm not going to make you do anything," the guy told him. "Just relax."

That anger he'd felt, talking with Quinn, it was still there, simmering. He resisted snapping at the guy. "Seriously, I didn't drive all the way here from Ohio to relax."

"Whatever you're thinking you _are_ here for, it's not going to get any easier if you force it." The guy took a hanger from the hook on the back of the door and hung up his jacket, unbuttoning his cuffs. He came over to the couch and sat down. "You don't have to drink. I just thought it would help."

Puck slowly took a seat on the other side of the couch. He realized he was gripping his own hands hard enough to make them hurt, and he forced himself to let go. With a frustrated sigh, he reached for the glass and downed it, feeling the burn. The guy didn't object when he refilled his glass, and poured himself another.

They sat like that for a long while, holding their glasses, adding more when they got low. They sipped in silence until Puck started to feel the effects of the whiskey. When he leaned back on the couch, resting his head on the wall, the guy put a hand on his leg, and Puck didn't object.

"You want to tell me about this_ thing_ you had?"

Puck took another swallow before he answered, and let his knee relax against the guy's.

"It was one stupid night," he began. "Last Christmas. Finn... my friend." He glanced at the guy, who nodded. "His stepdad went to New York, and his mom took a bunch of extra shifts at the hospital." He couldn't help grin. "Finn made egg nog. Only he put in way too much fucking rum, and he was so excited about making it that I didn't want to make him feel bad, you know? So there was... a lot of rum."

"Yeah," the guy said. He was grinning too. "That sounds familiar."

"Yeah, so... by the time we made it to the third glass, it tasted pretty great. And then, um." He closed his eyes, letting out his breath in a short, rueful huff, nothing like a laugh. "I guess there was kissing."

"Mmmm. I bet that tasted pretty great too."

"Yeah. And there might have been some, you know, grinding. On the couch."

"I'm guessing he didn't stop you."

"No," he admitted. "It seemed like... well, he was into it. We both passed out before things could go very far, but in the morning, I remembered everything. All of it. I wasn't sure if he did."

"Did you talk to him about it?"

"Kind of. A couple months later, we went to a party at a frat house on campus. Their sound system had busted, and we offered to play. It was awesome." Puck hesitated, then added, "They said we could jump over the pledging and the hazing and join the frat, even though were were, um, 'obviously gay.'"

He watched the guy's lips tighten, but he nodded. "Nice."

"Well, that's the thing. We're not. Both of us, we've had lots of girls. _Lots."_

"Except for each other."

"I didn't know," Puck protested. "I didn't know what he thought. So I brought it up, when we got back to our room. Like, real casual, wondering what was up with that, thinking we were gay?"

The guy angled toward him, watching him curiously. "What did he say?"

The moment was etched into his memory. For the millionth time, he took it out and looked at it from all angles, the way Finn had snickered, then tilted his head, considering Puck. Puck had always been able to read Finn like an open book, but right then, Puck really couldn't figure out why Finn was looking at him like he was the prompt for the essay portion of the SAT.

Puck licked his lips. "He said, 'No way. They can think whatever they want. I know I'm not gay.'"

The guy sighed, nodding slowly. "Was it a relief to hear that?"

"I don't know. Maybe a little. It was just, it wasn't much of an answer? I never found out what he thought about what we did. Like, did he remember, and not want to, or did he _not_ remember, or... was it something else?"

"And you think it's too late to ask him now?"

"Yeah." Puck hated saying the words, every time, but he made himself do it anyway. "He died a couple weeks ago." He paused. "I mean - a couple months." _Shit, had it really been that long?_

"Oh, jeez," the guy breathed.

"That night, it wasn't like I was looking for it, but it _happened._ It happened, and it was - fuck, I don't know. I can't stop thinking about what it meant. What it could have meant."

The guy shook his head. "Meant, to you."

"Yeah," he whispered. Admitting it felt almost worse than denying it. "It did mean something."

Because if he could love Finn the way he did, and he could feel like _that_ when he kissed him, then why hadn't they been doing _that?_ Why had he been looking for _that_ in a hundred different girls when he already _had_ it, one bunk below his? And now he didn't have it, and he never would. Puck wiped his eyes in frustration.

"You look like you could use a hug," the guy said solemnly.

It wasn't the most subtle of come-ons, but Puck didn't care. He really could use a fucking hug. And once inside the guy's arms, Puck let him sigh against Puck's neck, and put his hands on Puck's head, his leg sliding against his.

"I'm not him," the guy whispered into his ear, the whiskey strong on his breath, "and I'm really sorry you lost that, what you had. But you can... pretend, if you want to."

_Pretend._ The memory of Finn on the couch was stronger, while he sat this close to a stubbled cheek, a baritone voice. Puck let his eyes close, and he could see Finn in his mind, his surprised expression, the way his breath had caught when Puck had wedged up against his thigh and kissed him with more urgency. He turned his head blindly, finding the guy's lips, and choked on a moan.

"Yeah. That's good." The guy was encouraging. His voice was soft enough that Puck couldn't really hear the differences between Finn's voice in his memory and the guy's, here. He wasn't really listening, anyway. They resonated in his memory, Finn's gasped responses, the gentle curses, and Puck's name, said just once.

It was almost good. The guy's shoulders were strong under Puck's grip, and he was confident in the way he moved against Puck, deepening the kiss. Puck bucked into the guy's hand as it brushed his thigh, then again as it slid up to rest against his zipper.

"Did he touch you?" the guy murmured. "Did you let him jerk you off?"

That made him want to cry again. _Things I'll never have._ He shook his head.

"Did you want to blow him?"

He would have given anything to hear Finn's voice make that desperate-amazed noise. He nodded, kissing the guy harder, and shuddered as he slid his hands under the guy's shirt.

"You can call me his name, if you want."

It hurt, but he was too far into the memory to stop now. "Fuck," he muttered.

"Come on. It's okay."

He didn't really need the encouragement to unbutton the guy's shirt and pull off his own. He'd been the one encouraging Finn, after all, on the couch in the Hudson-Hummel family room, just as he'd always encouraged the girls he'd been with. The sensation of hands on skin, the heat of two bodies... it hadn't really been any different with Finn, and it wasn't all that different now.

When the guy tried to help him with his zipper, he did it himself. There wasn't a lot of ambiguity about what they were going for here. He was pretty sure the guy wasn't going to push him away coyly and say no, like some girls would have done. Was that something different, with guys? His head swam with the whiskey as he stumbled out of his jeans and knelt on the floor, tugging on the guy's slacks.

"You know what you want?" the guy asked.

Puck was pretty sure he did. It felt selfish to ask for it, in a different way than it did with girls. Maybe it was because he knew it could go either way, that somebody would give and somebody would take and it wasn't obvious who'd do which. But the guy was asking. Would Finn have asked? Or would he just have let Puck have what he wanted? He ran his hands up the guy's legs, feeling the outline of his cock beneath his tailored pants.

"I want to top," he said.

The guy nodded, fingers brushing Puck's temples and through his hair. "Tell him. Tell him you're going to fuck him."

"God. I'm... I'm going to fuck you." He'd never said that to anybody before, and it was heady, to be asked for that, to be told that was something he could _want._

The guy was on his feet, unzipping his slacks and stepping out of them, reaching for something in his desk. When he came back, he handed Puck the bottle of lube and a condom, then kissed him again. "Say his name. Say _I'm going to fuck you, Flynn."_

"Finn," he corrected, his voice harsh as it spoke Finn's name. He gave the guy's hip a push, and the guy lost his balance and fell backwards onto the couch. "I'm going to fuck you, _Finn."_

Saying those words out loud in a stranger's house in New York City felt so absurdly, profoundly wrong that Puck stumbled back a step, dropping the lube on the floor. He held onto the blue foiled condom for a couple more seconds, staring at it. _I never use these, _he thought, his lip curling,_ and I never would have. Not with him. We wouldn't have needed them. _

"I can't do this," he said, breathing heavily, and took another step back. "Not with you. This isn't right."

The guy was sitting back on the couch, looking up at him with wide eyes. Puck could almost have sworn he was smiling a little. He nodded without a word.

Puck grabbed his jeans, jamming his legs into them, and quickly stepped into his shoes before heaving his guitar and bag down the stairs.

He could tell he was too drunk to drive, but he was equally sure that staying there, holding on to guilt and shame and missed opportunities, would be just as bad. Gunning the engine felt like a challenge to the universe, and he snarled a little, shoving the helmet over his head. _Come on, you want to fuck with me? You're going to have to come and get me. Do your worst. _

He thought of how he'd felt that morning, waking up beside Quinn. He'd barely been able to breathe with the weight on his chest, the pressure of everything he was missing coming alive from his dreams. He'd made a hell of a lot of mistakes in his short life, but taking Finn for granted had been the worst of them all. If he and Finn could rebound after the shit they went through with Quinn, they could have handled anything. _Anything except this._

Puck wove through traffic, dodging cars that were moving too slowly, and made his way back to I-95 heading out of the city. He wasn't going toward Lima, he was going away from - everything. He couldn't get there quick enough.

The road was a blur in front of his eyes, but he was hardly watching it. Once he got out of the city, he sped up to 85, letting his bike go full throttle on the open highway. Nobody was there to tell him not to, just like nobody was left to tell him to live his life. Nobody was there to believe in him anymore.

When the animal darted out of the brush beside the interstate, loping directly into his path, he didn't even have a moment to be surprised. If he'd had time, he could have wondered what a dog was doing on the highway, or if wolves really lived in this part of New York state, but the impact of the road cut all of that short, and his time for wondering was over.

* * *

Only it wasn't, quite.

He blinked into the brightness, shielding his eyes, trying to make out the features of the figure in front of him. He recognized her before he realized he wasn't hurt, that his jacket and his skin and his skull were all intact, which they definitely shouldn't have been after a wreck like that.

"Coach?" he said doubtfully.

It was definitely her, garbed in spectacular brown leather chaps, jacket and boots. She was sitting on a Harley Softail, chewing gum and grinning down at him with affectionate reproach.

"Puckerman." She shook her head, setting her helmet beside her, and began to pull her gloves off, one finger at a time. "You've got to tell me, what in God's name were you thinking, pulling that stunt? Driving after five shots? There are quicker and more reliable ways to off yourself, if that's what you were going for."

"I wasn't," he protested. "I swear, I was just trying to get out of town. I couldn't stay there." Then he stopped, staring at her. "Wait a second, how do you know about that? What are you _doing_ here?"

"You might as well ask what _you're_ doing here, Noah." She was still grinning. "Never would have expected you to make it here at the end."

He looked around at the indistinct surroundings. "Where _are _we?"

She shrugged. "Beats me."

"So I'm... dead?"

"Yep."

"And you're dead too?"

"Oh, no, I'm totally fine. You're just imagining me." Her eyes twinkled at him as she popped her gum. "You needed somebody to help you get your head out of your ass, and I guess I was the most convenient image."

"This is really fucked up," he said. But, somehow, he could tell she was right. He didn't feel scared or anything. He was just listening.

"You're telling me," she agreed. "I'll tell you what, Noah, not too many people get a chance like this."

He took a step forward, trying to get closer, but the light blazed up, and he had to shield his eyes. "A - a chance like what?"

"Your friendship with Finn. That was a once in a lifetime experience. I know you know that." She jerked her chin at him, somehow encompassing the entire world beyond them with that one gesture. "You don't have to let this go."

"Let _what_ go?" He shook his head. "You're gonna have to tell it to me straight, Coach; I've had a hell of a month, and I never did so well with subtle."

Coach Beiste leaned forward, her elbow on her knee. "Here's what I see, Puckerman. You've got regrets, some of them unfounded. Some of them have genuine merit."

"Who doesn't have regrets?"

She shrugged again. "Hell if I know. But why don't you tell me what some of your regrets are, so I can make sure we're on the right page."

He reached for the first thing he could think of. "I regret that my dad was such an asshole and I'll never be any better than he is."

"Nope," she sighed. "Can't regret something that ain't your fault. And you're already better than he is."

"I can't regret Beth," Puck said softly. "I might regret what I did, to Quinn, to Finn, but we got past it, so it's not really a regret anymore. And even if we hadn't - I don't know if I could trade Beth off like that."

Beiste nodded. "Sure as shit, that little precious thing will never be regret, and she never would have been a real issue between you and Finn."

"Of course I regret Finn's death!" He glared at her. "It shouldn't have happened, not on my watch."

"You're on the right track," she said. "But Finn's death isn't on you. He made his own choices and I'm sorry if that hurts."

"But my regret has to do with Finn," Puck clarified.

Coach Bieste just nodded.

"Because I took him, his friendship, for granted?"

"You didn't, not really," she said, shaking her head. "You let your fear take over."

"Oh." Puck felt the shock of understanding like an impact to his chest. "I didn't really tell him how I feel; I didn't push him to give us a chance."

"Like I said, kiddo, your relationship was a once in a lifetime experience. Do you know how many people spend their whole lives looking for that and never, ever find it?"

There was nothing to sit on, but he wasn't sure he could stay standing, not with the weight of this judgment on his shoulders. He dropped to his knees.

"So..." He looked at her helplessly. "What do I do now?"

"You decide if this relationship is worth doing it over. Not the whole thing; you'd end up a different person if you started over from the beginning. But starting back where you could make a real difference for him. For the two of you, together."

Puck swallowed hard. "Even if I could do that... who's to say I wouldn't fuck things up just as much, the second time around?"

"Not a god damn thing."

"And what if I say no?"

She considered him. "Then you're done. Which is your right. You get to decide when you're done, and nobody would fault you for that."

"You mean... I could quit now, just because I'm scared to try again and fail?" He snorted. "Fuck that. _I'd_ fault me for that."

Her smile was like a benediction. "I'm glad to hear you say that, Noah."

He nodded slowly, rising up, feeling his strength return under the support of her belief in him. As he watched, the light blazed brighter, but somehow his eyes could handle it now. He could see her nodding at him as she faded into the corona of the sun.

Puck blinked. The sky had resolved into a goal post against a cloudless sky. He could hear the distant sounds of the Coach, barking orders as she gestured for the team to take another lap.

"That was more pitiful than a hog in a swimming pool!" she cried.

"You going around again?"

Puck turned quickly to see - _Finn,_ standing on the edge of the track, grinning at him.

"What?" Puck said.

"You doing another lap?" Finn asked. "She sounds like she's serious. Unless you want to get in trouble."

Puck forced himself to take one step, and then another. His mohawk felt bristly under his hand when he ran it over his head. He spotted Quinn, lurking under the bleachers, her hair pink. _Senior year._ He wasn't going to freak out.

"No, I..." Puck smiled back, and accelerated into a run. "I think I'm going to take her advice. I'm going around again."

* * *

_watch?v=a5uXsFrmnOE&feature=kp_

_I set all my regrets on fire  
__Cause I know I'll never take the time  
__To unpack my missteps and call all of our friends  
__I figured they would take your side_

_I make the bed, just not that well  
__Your name comes up a lot  
__When I talk to my mom  
__Oh, I think she can tell_

_I was out on the town  
__So I came to your window last night  
__I tried not to throw stones  
__But I wanted to come inside  
__Now I'm causing a scene  
__Thinking you need a reason to smile  
__Oh no, what have I done?  
__There's no one to keep me warm_

_So maybe I should put up a fight  
__I'll call them back and borrow a box knife  
__So I can learn to live with all the stupid shit  
__I've been doing since '99_

_And I know I could be more clever  
__And I know I could be more strong  
__But I'm waiting for the day  
__You'll come back and say  
__"Hey, maybe I should change my mind"_

_I drink a lot  
__I'm not sure if that's new  
__But these days when I wake up  
__From a night I forgot  
__I just wish that it never came true_

_I knew there'd come a day  
__When all was said and done  
__(And I know I could be more clever)  
__Everything I was  
__Is everything but gone  
__(And I know I could be more strong)  
__All my big mistakes  
__Are bouncing off your wall  
__(And I know I could be more clever)  
__The bottles never break  
__The sun will never come  
__(And I know I could be more clever)  
__So come on let me in  
__I will be the sun  
__(And I know I could be more clever)  
__I will wake you up  
__I am who I was  
__(And I know I could be more strong)  
__So beat up your heart, oh beat up your heart, oh beat up your heart  
__(And I know I could be more clever  
__And I know I could be more)_

_- Fun., "Out on the Town"_


	2. Fall 2011

_(Authors' note: If you haven't noticed by now, Puck is back at the beginning of season 3, reliving their senior year. All canon elements are suspect from this point out. We would like to point out that Puck's mention of the sneakers is straight out of the show. Also, the scene in which Finn asks Kurt advice about sex was originally written, but was cut from the final script of 3x05. Spoilers in this chapter through 3x05, and warnings for masturbation and making out. Enjoy! -amy and ca-babs)_

* * *

That first day back was completely fucking surreal. Puck went home after football practice and proceeded to spend the rest of the evening wandering around his bedroom, touching things he shouldn't own anymore and looking at the pictures on his phone from a year and a half ago. Only now, a year and a half ago was _today._

He paused in front of the mirror more than once, inspecting himself from all angles, wrinkling his nose at the remains of his mohawk. _That_ was going to have to go, pretty damn quickly. He prodded his stomach with curious fingers, feeling the lack of a beer gut, thanks no doubt to constant access to McKinley's weight room. His face was noticeably younger, slimmer, but he could somehow see shadows on his face that he didn't remember being there during senior year. Maybe the memories of his obliterated future had changed him somehow. Would change him? Had? He shook his head, trying to clear it. There was no way he was going to make it make sense.

He kept picking up his phone and putting it back down again. He could call anyone, do anything, but none of it felt real anymore, not if he was playing the part of his younger self. How was he going to be convincing? He was sure somebody would catch him in a slip and challenge him.

And then he laughed.

"Nobody _knows_ any of this," he said aloud. "Nobody knows what really happened. Fuck, if I told them, they'd never believe me anyway."

He thumbed his phone on and typed in Finn's speed dial code, putting it to his ear. It took a few moments for Finn to pick up.

"Hey, what's up? My mom's going to be on my case about getting enough sleep before early practice tomorrow."

Puck looked in the mirror again, frowning at himself. "You've got to come over. I need your help with something."

Finn sounded doubtful. "What is it? Can't it wait?"

"No, it can't _wait,"_ he snapped. "I'm not doing this alone. And this... I don't want anybody else. It's got to be you."

He scowled, listening to Finn laughing. "What are you _talking_ about?"

"I need to take care of this - this _thing_, on my head. I need your clippers, the good ones. And beer. Lots of beer. Just get the fuck over here."

Puck made it through two beers on his own before Finn arrived, coming in through the garage so his mom wouldn't hear. Finn tossed the clippers onto the bed, regarding Puck curiously.

"What brought this on? When'd you decide to cut it off?"

_When you joined the fucking army. Only you haven't done that yet._ Puck shrugged. "I looked at myself in the mirror and I couldn't deal with this stupid excuse for a combover. Just don't nick the scar." He sat in the middle of his bed, pulling his t-shirt off and tying it around his neck, like a cape. "The number two guard. Come _on."_

Finn didn't question him anymore. He fired up the clippers, evaluating him from all sides, and then swooping in to take off a little here and a little there. Puck watched the locks of hair litter the bed around him while Finn chattered about football and Glee and Rachel. It was almost better than the beer: Finn's voice, talking about nothing in particular. He was pretty sure he could listen to Finn doing that forever.

When he mentioned _the new substitute teacher Ms. Corcoran,_ Puck couldn't help snorting.

"You know she's the one who got Beth," he said.

"Yeah, I remember," Finn agreed. "Is that weird? Having her in town like this?"

"Definitely not the weirdest thing that happened to me this week," Puck muttered. "Hand me another beer, okay? I can still feel some long parts here in the back."

Finn stood back, admiring his work. "Okay. I think it's done. What do you think?"

Puck let his hand travel over the bristly-satin surface of his head. It felt more familiar, at least. He took a second to untie his t-shirt and bundle it up with the hair-covered sheet from his bed, and deposited it into the laundry basket before standing in front of the mirror. He could see Finn watching him. Finn looked almost anxious.

"Better," Puck agreed. "I think it was time to get rid of it. Time to grow up, you know? Start thinking about the future."

Finn nodded slowly. "Yeah, I guess? Not that I have any idea what my future's going to look like." He touched his own hair. "You think I should cut my hair too?"

Puck shook his head. The last thing he needed was to be staring at Finn's buzz cut every day, thinking about him in that recruiter's office. "You don't need to." He turned around to look at Finn. "Just... think about this. If you could do anything, _anything at all_, with the rest of your life, what would you do?"

"Uh..." Finn laughed uneasily. "I don't know? I think I'd want to make a difference, somehow. Like my dad did, you know?"

"You know there are lots of ways you can make a difference," Puck said. _God, Finn's fucking dad._ He was going to have to go through that all over again. Puck tried to focus on the now and ignore all the anguish that was yet to come. Might come. "Look at what Burt is trying to do with his run for Congress. He's going to make a difference if he get's elected."

Finn gave him an odd look. "How did you know about that? He hasn't told anybody but me and mom and Kurt that he's thinking about running against Coach Sylvester. Well, and Mr. Schue."

"Yeah, uh, I heard Schue talking about it." He moved across the room, trying to avoid letting Finn see his face. He'd been back for one fucking day, and he was already screwing up. Was Beiste going to appear in a puff of heavenly smoke and revoke his do-over status?

"Are you saying I should go into politics too?" Finn asked. "Should I be paying close attention to what Burt is doing? Because he said I could run the tire shop if he gets elected. And don't you have to be old to go into politics?"

Puck sighed. "Finn, you don't have to do any of that stuff. You don't care about politics, and you don't want to run the tire shop. Come on, do you really want to be stuck in this town all your life? Don't you want to dream bigger? We could do anything."

Finn shrugged. "I don't know. I thought it would just come to me, that I'd wake up and I'd know what I want to do. That's the way it seems like it's been for everyone else."

"I don't think it has to be like that." He recognized that lost look on Finn's face. He'd seen it a lot, senior year, before Finn had decided to ask Rachel to marry him. Puck reached out and grabbed Finn's arm, making him look at him. "You're a senior. You're going to graduate this year. This is the year to figure it out, to make plans."

Now Finn looked scared. "What if I don't have any?"

"You will," Puck insisted. "We'll figure it out. I'm going to help you."

It was just another useless promise, he knew. There was every chance he'd fail at this, too. But there was no way he could look at Finn's living, breathing, earnest face and not try to help.

Suddenly being that close to Finn was doing weird things to his heartbeat. He let Finn's arm go and dug in his drawer for a clean t-shirt.

"You always did dream big," Finn said. He sounded quiet and sad. "I don't think I know how to do that."

Puck blew out a breath, turning back to face him. "What the fuck do you mean by that? Who's the one who joined New Directions?"

"That was just because Mr. Schue -"

"It wasn't just because of that, and you know it. None of us would have joined in the first place if you hadn't done it first. Glee club would have been a real joke without you. But we made it to regionals, and nationals. So don't give me any of that pussy shit about you being afraid to dream big. Your dream should be as big as you are."

It was so close to what he'd said to Finn when Puck asked him to come to L.A. Fuck, was he just going to end up repeating himself, recycling all the dialogue they'd already had? But no, this conversation was new. And he'd waited a lot longer to shave off the mohawk, in the past. Future. Whatever. Finn was smiling a little, and Puck smiled back, giving him an encouraging pat on his chest.

"You really believe in me?" Finn asked softly.

Puck had to swallow before he could answer. "What the fuck does that mean? You're not, like, the tooth fairy. You're right here in front of me. Of course I believe in you."

"I mean..." Finn laughed. "Never mind. I should get home. See you tomorrow."

As soon as Finn was out the door, Puck began pacing his room, across from the desk to the table by his bed and back again. Finn being obsessed with Rachel was familiar enough, but Finn being hopeless was more than Puck could deal with right now. What if he wasn't good enough to save him from himself, this second time around? What if he made it worse? The way things were at the moment, Puck was starting to worry things might already be going horribly wrong.

He needed a plan. He needed a plan good enough to keep himself focused, even while he did senior year all over again. A plan to help Finn as he went through all the same old shit. The fact that he had absolutely no idea what that plan was going to look like yet didn't deter him. Finn was right; he did dream big. There was no sense in playing it safe - not when lives were at stake.

* * *

Puck wanted to kick Mr. Schue when he proposed the dance booty camp, because that was exactly what Finn didn't need: another opportunity to feel bad at something. Standing in the wings, watching Finn trip over his own feet while Schue and Mike flanked him, was nothing but painful.

When he saw Kurt wincing, Puck realized he wasn't the only one who thought so. He moved in close enough to talk to him without drawing Mr. Schue's attention.

"This sucks," he said.

Kurt sighed, leaning on the parallel bars. "Finn's never been the most graceful individual."

"Yeah, but I don't understand why he's so uncomfortable with _this,_" he insisted. "He's captain of the fucking football team, but the moment you mention the word _dance _around Finn, he loses all the confidence he has in himself."

Kurt nodded in agreement. "I know. It's a huge mental trigger for him. And I can't figure out why either. It's not like he can't dance. When I taught him how to waltz for the wedding, he was easier to teach than my Dad."

Puck quirked one eyebrow at Kurt. "Yeah, I can't imagine why that would be."

"Oh, shut up," Kurt exclaimed, his cheeks going pink. He gave Puck's chest a halfhearted slap with the back of his hand. "That's ancient history. It's just…"

"Okay, let's run it again," Mr. Schue called. "Sam, you and Finn try standing behind us this time."

"It's just?" Puck asked.

Kurt pulled Puck a little further away from Mercedes and lowered his voice. "Mercedes is a great friend, but she's a bit of a gossip, and I promised Finn I wouldn't tell a soul."

Puck snorted at Kurt's comments about Mercedes, but he he had to wonder what Kurt might know about Finn that he didn't. "About what?"

Kurt leaned in closer to Puck, dropping his voice still further. "So after the disaster in New York, at Nationals, he's really kind of taken all the teasing to heart. Only not just about the unscripted bits."

Puck nodded, encouraging Kurt to continue.

"Finn came to me and asked me to help him with his dancing," Kurt admitted. "Not like I'm some great dancer, but because he trusts me. I managed to teach him to waltz decently without constantly putting him down, like some people would." A fierce protectiveness flashed in Kurt's eyes.

"So if you've been helping him dance, why does he still look like that?" Puck thrust his arm out, just before Finn tripped over his own feet again and landed in a heap on the floor. They both winced.

"I don't know!" Kurt hissed. "At home, he's better. He's more calm, he listens to the music and he just - feels it." They both watched Finn struggle, humiliation and frustration both evident on his face. Kurt's voice grew thoughtful. "At home, I'm not trying to teach him choreography, I'm just trying to get him to loosen up and feel the music. I'm convinced memorizing a bunch of steps isn't the key; he needs some sort of connection to what he's learning."

Puck straightened with fresh determination. "Ok... I've got a plan. Just follow my lead."

Kurt nodded, eyes wide, and walked with Puck over to where Finn was standing with Mike and Mr Schue.

"I just can't do it," Finn was saying.

"I think we could all use a break," Puck suggested to the group at large. He tilted his head towards Mike and lowered his voice. "Maybe let Kurt and me give it a try?"

"All right, fine," Mr Schue said, clearly exasperated with the lack of progress. "Let's meet back here in 20 minutes."

"My mom made almond cookies last night," Mike said to Mercedes as he led her away from Puck, Finn and Kurt.

As soon as everyone was gone, Finn dropped to the floor and lay flat on his back on the stage, his arms flung over his eyes. "This sucks!"

Kurt kicked at Finn's shin lightly. "Get up, Finn."

"I give up," Finn mumbled. He edged away from Kurt's foot.

"I told Puck about our rehearsals," Kurt said simply. "Get up and show him what I've seen you do."

Finn dropped his arms, sitting up and glaring reproachfully at Kurt. "You promised that was going to be a secret. Besides, what does it matter? That's not really dancing. if it was, I'd be a lot better at this than I am."

Kurt sniffed. "I was kind of surprised you hadn't already told Puck. He's your best friend."

"It's not a big deal, Finn," Puck said. "Just show me."

Finn shifted his glare to Puck while Kurt dug out his phone and hooked it up to Mike's portable speakers. "Well, you've gotta do it too, Kurt. I'm not doing this on my own."

"Fine by me." Kurt stalked over to the center of the stage, poised to move, as Finn shuffled into place beside him.

Puck watched from the side as Finn closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. As the music started, he began to let his body go. At first it was obvious Finn was anxious about Puck being there, but by the chorus, he was in fact moving freely and fluidly to the music. Without even seeming to know he was doing so, Finn was actually incorporating some of Mike's choreography from the other song into what he was currently doing - and it didn't look half bad.

When the song stopped, Puck knew he was wearing a shit-eating grin. He didn't bother to try to hide it, but when Finn saw his expression, his face fell. "I know, stupid, right?"

Puck shook his head. "No. Totally not what I was thinking."

He grabbed a towel and mopped off his sweaty brow. His cheeks were red, and not just from the dancing. "Then why were you looking at me that way?"

"It was _good,_ Finn," Puck said. "You were even doing some of Mike's steps."

Finn rolled his eyes. "No, I wasn't."

"You were. Look, at the beginning, you did something like this." Puck mimicked Finn's steps. "How about if you try this, then add this from Mike, and what do you think would come next?" Puck put a couple of steps together and demonstrated them to Finn, waiting for his input.

Finn shrugged. "I dunno. I'm not a dancer."

"Finn," Kurt said firmly, rewinding the track to the beginning, "just listen to the music. What would _you_ do next?"

Puck watched as a little of the tension in Finn's body slipped away and his expression went from self-conscious to thoughtful. Close scrutiny had always bothered Finn, whether it had been in class or on the field. Finn never got embarrassed when he was leading others, but when the focus was on him, he clammed up. Watching him now, Puck realized all over again how _seriously_ Finn always took everything. He always wanted to do his best - not because he wanted fame or attention, but because it was the right thing to do, to help the team win.

"Puck," he heard Kurt say. He sounded a little impatient. Puck realized he was staring at Finn.

"Uh... yeah." He took several hurried steps back, giving them room to move.

This time, when they got to the part Kurt was talking about, Puck watched Finn's face instead of his body. He was counting out the beats, nodding his head in concentration as his eyes flicked to the side. The small rhythmic movements compelled Puck to count the beats along with him.

"... six, seven, eight," Puck chanted. When Finn paused, Puck reached over and replayed the last thirty seconds. "It looked like you had something. An idea?"

"I don't know." He was tensing up again, looking to Kurt for direction. Puck stepped in between them, twisting his body as Finn tried to look around him at Kurt. Puck wouldn't let Finn hide from him, standing on his tiptoes so he was right in Finn's line of sight.

"Don't lose it. What was that routine? Show me, again."

This time it was all three of them, Kurt watching Finn's movements and following them exactly, and Puck doing his best to keep up, but it was clear that _Finn_ was the one leading them. The change in Finn was dramatic and impossible to miss: he stood straighter, moved more confidently, and even smiled a little. When they were done, they both clustered around Finn with words of praise, and Finn didn't seem self-conscious at all.

"How'd I not make this connection before," Puck heard Kurt mutter. He was shaking his head a little, a crazy smile on his face - and he was looking at Puck.

"What are you talking about?" Puck asked. His own grin, at watching Finn emerge from his creative doldrums, was equally broad, but he wasn't going to guess at Kurt Hummel's motivation.

"Football," Kurt replied simply. "You guys let me teach you how to dance, on the field." Kurt turned to Finn, poking him in the chest. "You did that."

"No, _you_ did that," Finn retorted.

"Whatever. The point is, you were _fine._ You danced as well as any of those guys, and you did it with confidence and grace. And trust me, I was watching, so I would know."

Finn ignored the aside. "I don't get what your point -"

"No, last year," Puck interrupted. "Homecoming. Kurt wasn't even on the team."

Puck felt Kurt begin to bounce up and down on his toes. "I was at Dalton. I had no idea what you guys were even doing. And half the team was gone, and the girls were on the field. And then you danced, Finn. You _led_ the whole team. _You_ brought them back together."

"But it wasn't about dancing." Finn squeezed his eyes shut. "It was about football. It was about _winning. _ We'd been winning, and we'd come so far. It didn't seem right for it all to come to an end over something like-"

"When we go back to Nationals this year, Finn, it's _still _going to be about winning," Puck countered. "We've all come so far, and for a lot of us, this is our last chance."

"We're counting on you Finn, to lead us," Kurt said softly. "Tell us what you need us to do. Tell us what we need to do to win."

Finn opened his eyes, and Puck could see they were shiny with unshed tears. "Crap, you guys. I just - I don't _know_ what we need to do to win all of this."

"It's not just you on the field, right?" Puck said. "You're following Coach Beiste's plays."

Finn nodded, puzzled.

Kurt's grin reminded Puck of the Cheshire Cat. "Mr. Schuester and Mike are your Coach Beiste here on the stage. You're still you; still Finn; still the quarterback. And you've got the best team behind you."

Puck smirked, watching understanding dawning on Finn's face. "I remember this guy on the football team, started hanging out with a bunch of losers. He pulled a guy in a wheelchair out of a port-a-potty and told the rest of the football team that he was in fact going to still be _on_ the football team, _and_ join the Glee club, no matter what his coach told him. And do you know why he did that?"

Finn's lips twisted up into an equivalent smirk. "Because they weren't going to win without me."

"That's the spirit," Kurt crowed, and he reached around and smacked Finn on the ass.

Puck watched in amusement as Finn _didn't_ react to Kurt's slap, other than to laugh. His eyes crinkled in the corners, a sign of true Hudson laughter. Before Puck was fully aware he was doing it, he too brought one of his hands down, slapping Finn's other ass cheek. "You've got this, Hudson."

Finn cracked up, rolling his eyes at the wings above them. "I can't believe you guys tricked me into believing I could do this."

Kurt leaned in against Finn's ear, dropping his voice to a stage whisper. "I don't think it was a trick." He grinned, backing away as he pointed at Finn. "Now you do it for Mike and Mr. Schue."

"Oh," said Finn, his smile dropping away, "I - uh..."

Kurt didn't wait for an answer. He beamed at Finn, then hopped down off the front of the stage into the pit, hurrying up the aisle toward the back of the auditorium.

Puck wasn't going to wait around for Finn to get all nervous again. He tugged Finn back to center stage, pressing play on the iPod. "Run through it again. Show me the part that you just added."

Finn loosened up again once he got moving. It seemed to help him to close his eyes, and although Puck worried a little about Finn accidentally throwing himself off the stage, he could clearly see Finn made the best turns and the cleanest, sharpest moves while his focus was completely internal. It also distracted him from noticing the approach of Kurt with Mr. Schue and Mike. They paused in the middle of the auditorium, watching Finn dance.

When the music ended, Finn shook out his shoulders, reaching for the iPod. "Let me go back to that middle part," he began, but jerked his hand away when the applause began.

"What was _that?"_ Mr. Schue called, clearly amazed.

"That was Finn's improvised routine," Kurt told him with satisfaction. "He's been working on it at home, but a third of that was new today. It was better this time, Finn."

Mr. Schue scrambled up onto the stage. "From now on, when I'm writing choreography, I'm going to come to you first, so we can make adaptations."

Finn gave him a rueful grimace. "Because I suck so much?"

"No," Mike replied. "Because you dancing like this is a hundred percent better than anything I could get you to memorize." He turned to Kurt with awe. "You're the Finn whisperer."

"Actually, you should talk to Puck," Kurt replied, still looking smug. "He's the one who brought it to the stage and convinced Finn to give it a try."

"The both of you, then." Mr. Schue was smiling wide, and Finn couldn't help but smile back. "Can I convince you to do it once more, so I can learn it?"

They stayed in the audience while Finn took Mr. Schue and Mike through his routine, which was getting more elaborate and solid with each repetition. Kurt nudged Puck. "That was good."

"Yeah, I'm impressed. He's a hell of a lot more comfortable."

"No, I mean... what you did. Helping him like that." Kurt watched Finn demonstrate a series of steps without tripping once. "Honestly, I was beginning to think you'd given up on him."

"I haven't been the best best friend," Puck agreed, trying not to act defensive. "But I'm different now."

"And why's that?" Kurt's gaze was far too insightful. Puck kept his own eyes on Finn.

"I guess I realized what I was missing out on by being an asshole friend. He deserves better than that."

"You do, too," Kurt said. He patted Puck on the shoulder. "Lucky for both of you, you came around."

* * *

Puck was beginning to think about his former past like it was an earlier version of Super Mario. Here he was, running through the same scenes with the same characters, but knowing already just when to jump to make the invisible mushroom appear. It felt like a cheat in some ways, but in other ways, he could tell his actions were opening up a whole new series of possibilities. What he had resolved to do was to take all of the possibilities seriously this time - and to focus on the ones which included Finn feeling good and making positive choices. If he had anything to say about it, this road wouldn't end the way the last one had.

He already felt different, seeing the world with older eyes. Watching Shelby now, for example, made it hard to find her as appealing as he once had. Perhaps he had better judgment, knowing how things came out between the two of them. When she came to Puck and asked him if he wanted to come over and get to know Beth, he still immediately said yes. Nothing would have stopped him from wanting that. But he was toning down the flirting, to the point that she was treating him like just another student, and he was okay with that.

In the moment when he found himself sitting across the kitchen table from Shelby, at which point he'd once sung _Waiting for a Girl Like You,_ he couldn't quite muster the enthusiasm for it, and ended up singing _Beth_ by KISS instead. It choked him up a little, watching the sappy look on Shelby's face, the way she obviously loved her daughter. And Beth was definitely Shelby's daughter, no matter who her biological parents were.

"What do you think about gay dads?" he asked her while he put his guitar back into the case.

She looked confused. "In what context? I mean, I don't have any problem with gay men wanting to raise kids."

"Good." He nodded, watching Beth struggle to her feet in her playpen, fall to her well-padded butt, and try valiantly again to stand. "Like, if I had a boyfriend instead of a girlfriend, that wouldn't make you want to keep Beth away from me?"

"No way." She made a face. "I never had a problem with Rachel having two dads." But she was obviously curious. "Did you think - I mean, I'm surprised. I didn't expect you to think about that possibility for yourself."

"I'm just saying, hypothetically," he assured her. "I don't have a boyfriend _or_ a girlfriend. But I'm glad to know you're open-minded like that."

* * *

When it came time to choose between doing West Side Story and football, Puck wondered what would happen if he chose football this time. He felt a little guilty, thinking about picking the play again, when Finn was so obviously dedicated to football.

He overheard Rachel talking with Finn outside the locker room one day, sounding positively condescending.

"I know you want to support me in my decision to focus on getting into NYADA," she told him, patting his chest decisively, "but Tony's not a good fit for you. You're better off here."

Finn looked around himself as Rachel walked away, looking for all the world like he couldn't even figure out where he was. He sighed, sinking down on the bench next to Puck.

"This sucks," he complained. "I mean, I like football, but... it's not the only thing I've ever wanted to do. It's not like the way performing is for Rachel. This isn't my dream. I wish she wouldn't force me into choosing it." He looked wistfully at Puck. "Do you think I have a chance at getting discovered? Coach said there was going to be somebody on the sidelines at the next game, watching."

"You're awesome, dude," Puck said vaguely. He didn't want to try to predict the future anymore, not considering the way he was already changing things.

Coach was definitely being harder on the remaining athletes on the team, now that Mike and Puck were absent from the planned plays during West Side Story rehearsals. They still came to practice, but Beiste mostly had them staying on the sidelines while they ran plays. She bawled orders, gave them extra drills, and even though she wasn't mean about it, Puck could tell she was feeling stressed out.

"Come on, guys," she called, encompassing the locker room with one sweep of her arm, "let's get this stuff cleaned up. This ain't your bedroom, you know. You can't leave your clothes all over the place. Your mother's not here to pick up after you." Her critical eye passed right over Mike and Puck, waiting by the door for Finn to join them for booty camp. "For the love of God, Finn, are those your shoes? They're as big as gondolas."

Finn's face was red as he gathered up his gear and stuffed it into his bag. "It's not like I _meant_ to have the biggest feet of anyone in the senior class," he muttered. "And what the hell _is _a gondola, anyway?"

"It's a long canoe," Mike told him helpfully. "Like they use on the river in Venice."

Finn looked positively affronted. "Dude, my feet aren't _that_ big. I'm perfectly proportionate."

The comment made it impossible for Puck to not investigate. When Finn dropped his bag backstage and went to work on his Spanish homework in the auditorium, watching Rachel rehearse, Puck rifled through to dig out one of Finn's sneakers. He prodded the heel, trying to decipher the faded size stamped inside.

"What are you doing?"

Puck spun to see Kurt watching him. He quickly dropped the shoe and backed away from Finn's duffel. "I'm just checking. Coach was putting in an order for new shoes for the team. She made a comment about his feet. I think he was feeling self-conscious about telling me what size he wears."

It was enough of a diversion to distract Kurt from asking him more questions about why Puck was messing with Finn's stuff. Puck had to wait until Kurt was rehearsing the Officer Krupke number to return and filch the pair of shoes. He stuffed them into his backpack, shoving them down as far as they would go. He really didn't know what he would say if somebody else found him with Finn's sneakers. Especially not Finn himself.

The shoes stayed in his bag while he ate dinner with his mom and sister, but he couldn't stop thinking about them. About what Finn had said. _Perfectly proportionate._ What exactly did that _mean?_ He'd heard stories about the size of a guy's feet and the size of... other things, but was there any kind of evidence to point to that?

He had to wait until his sister was done with her homework to claim some time on the family computer. It wasn't exactly private, but he could get away with wiping his browser history after he was done.

A quick search and a visit to told Puck that the story about big feet being equal to big other things was a myth. But he still couldn't get Finn's voice out of his head. _I'm perfectly proportionate._ The article did say that bigger people tended to be bigger all over.

Puck hadn't lied when he said he was good at math. He opened a blank spreadsheet. Trying to not make it too obvious, he used H for Hudson and P for himself. On the side, he decided on T for height, an F for feet and a D for their proportionate parts.

His was easy. He filled in 5'11" in the height column. He'd worn a ten and a half shoe since he was fourteen, and his feet hadn't gotten any bigger since then. Finn, on the other hand, had topped 6'3" at the beginning of sophomore year. Puck was absolutely sure Finn's feet were bigger than his, but he didn't know how _much_ bigger.

He took his bag into the bathroom and locked the door before taking Finn's shoes out. They didn't smell great, but he worked the tongue open and pulled the laces loose enough to be able to find the size label, affixed halfway down the top of the sneaker: _15._

Puck blinked. "Jesus," he muttered, feeling lightheaded.

Glancing at the door nervously, he took his pants and boxers down. Then he recovered the tape measure he'd borrowed from his mom's sewing kit. He felt like a total idiot, sitting on the lid of the toilet, letting his dick flop in front of him. He was going to be scientific about this. No stretching it to make it seem longer, just base to tip and that was it.

He'd definitely erased his browser search for _average penis length,_ and all the subsequent searches during which he'd discovered the mortifying word for a limp dick was _flaccid,_ but it was still a little satisfying to discover his own dick was a little longer than average. He scribbled _3.5" _on a scrap piece of paper with no identifying marks.

He decided he was not going to even think about how he might measure Finn's dick, but the reading he'd done already had stirred his imagination plenty. It was clear that some dicks were small when they were limp, but the actual size of a guy's junk wouldn't be obvious until it was erect. And he _definitely_ wasn't going to make any plans to ask Finn about how long his dick was when it got hard.

But unfortunately, being reasonably good at math meant his brain was doing the calculations for him. Sitting there with his pants down and thinking about Finn's probably-five-inch-long dick was inspiring some significant growth in his own. He stifled a groan, giving himself a squeeze.

It wasn't something he did in the bathroom much anymore, but that wasn't the real question. The _real_ question was, was he actually going to jerk off while specifically fantasizing about Finn's erection? And the answer appeared to be - yes, he was.

Puck was just curious enough to make himself stop in the middle and and measure again. It wasn't because he was particularly interested in how big he was. He just wanted some more math to inspire his brain's calculations. Because if _he_ had a five and a half inch dick when it was hard, Finn might have something like seven and a half, or more. If this was the way _his_ dick felt in his hand when it was erect, what would it feel like to hold Finn's? How would it stretch the webbing of his palm when he wrapped his fingers around it and stroked?

He gave up pretending not to care, and let himself think about that in great detail for about three more minutes, about Finn being _perfectly proportionate._

Then he cleaned up, stuffed Finn's shoes back into his bag, and went back to the computer, where he deleted the spreadsheet and, for good measure, wiped his browser history once more.

* * *

The next day in the locker room before football practice, Finn sidled up to him and whispered, "Dude... I have a question for you."

_Oh, shit._ Puck was not going to panic. "Dude, I thought they were my sneakers."

Finn blinked. "What?"

"What?" Puck echoed. Finn shook his head.

"No, no... look, I figured since you have some more... experience than I do, that you could recommend a brand of condom." Finn's voice got softer and softer as he spoke. The embarrassed look on his face made Puck's breath catch in his throat.

"Are you cheating on Rachel?" he demanded. "Because if you are, man, that is not cool, and that's coming from _me."_

"No! No. I want to use them _with_ Rachel."

It was both better than what Puck had been imagining, and so much worse. Finn hadn't had this conversation with him in the original timeline, or possibly Puck just hadn't remembered it, but of course Finn wanted to have sex with Rachel. Of course he _had,_ and - why would that even be a problem? Puck had had sex with more girls than he could count, and Rachel was Finn's freaking _girlfriend. _

He opened his mouth to say _Hey, good job_, or something like that, but what actually came out was, "I don't know, dude. Do you really think you guys are ready for that?"

Finn wrinkled his nose at Puck. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," Puck insisted. "Berry... I mean, I always thought it'd be me, but..." He wasn't able to finish his sentence, not the way he wanted it to end. He shrugged. "Whatever, man. You guys knock yourselves out. And as for the condoms, I never used them. Worked out for me about 99% of the time."

Finn's expression was hurt, but he didn't say anything more to Puck about it.

Soon enough, Cooter Menkins was there, giving his pitch to the team. Puck couldn't help glaring at Cooter the whole time. Whenever Cooter grinned at Beiste, he wanted to snarl, _Get your damn eyes off her, you worthless prick._ But he managed to restrain himself to a mild throat-clearing noise. Cooter and the Coach were barely friends at this point, after all. And she wasn't going to keep herself from falling in love with Cooter, no matter what kind of advice Puck offered. Still, it made him feel like punching something, the way he was fawning all over her. He knew what was coming: Finn was going to get ignored, and Cooter was going to go out with Coach Sylvester, and in the end, both Beiste and Finn were going to wind up with broken hearts.

He gave up on school before fifth period and ditched the rest of his classes, driving his truck to the park by the highway and sitting there for over an hour. He didn't smoke or anything; he just sat there looking at the water, feeling so completely stupid and useless and pissed for no reason - which only pissed him off more.

Eventually Puck drove back to his house, where his sister was still nine, and his mom hadn't yet found out about Jacob, and he was the only one who knew that Finn only had two more years to live.

He'd almost gotten desperate enough to try doing his Spanish homework when there was a knock on the door. "Noah? Finn's here."

Puck opened the door and let Finn in. Finn was looking even more antsy than he had that afternoon, and Puck eventually pushed him into his desk chair and sat across from him on the edge of the bed. "What's going on?"

"Well..." Finn sighed, staring at his hands. "You didn't exactly have any kind of advice for me about having sex with Rachel. So I went to talk to Kurt."

"Kurt?" Puck stared at him. "No way he and Gold Star Gay have even gotten to second base."

"Yeah, that's what I discovered." Finn sounded miserable. "Not like Blaine's anywhere near good enough for him anyway. But he didn't have any more suggestions than you did. He just told me to be careful."

That made Puck bristle, for some reason. "Well, fuck, Hudson. It's not like it's your first time. You and Santana -"

"This is nothing like it was with Santana." Finn sounded angry. "I _love_ Rachel. I want it to be special for her."

_For her. Not for you._ Puck wasn't going to say that. He gritted his teeth and tried to smile.

"Shouldn't the fact that it's with you be special enough?"

"Shut up," Finn muttered, flushing. "I'm trying to be serious."

_So am I, _Puck thought. "Look, we're talking about freak-loser Berry nailing the fucking quarterback. Even the head cheerleader can't claim that. She should be begging you, not the other way around, regardless of how you feel."

Finn pushed off from the chair, pacing the room. "Just... forget it." He gave Puck a hurt look. "You know, I should have known better than to expect you to take this for real. Rachel's not some stupid Cheerio. She really means something to me. But what would you know? You've never felt like this about a girl."

Puck watched Finn head out the door, feeling the last words echo in his gut.

"No," he said to the empty room. "I never have."

* * *

There wasn't any reason for him to hang out outside of his coach's office after lunch, but Puck did it anyway. He told himself it was because of the stupid way she was mooning all over Cooter, but he was pretty sure it was actually because he missed having an adult in his life who liked him for who he was.

She looked surprised to see him there, herself, but she just called mildly, "Don't just stand there, Puckerman; come on in and take a load off."

He sat on the bench across from her desk, the one that smelled vaguely like feet, and waited for her to finish whatever paper she was writing.

"So you think Hudson's got a chance?" she asked, not looking up.

It was a casual comment, but it put him on edge anyway. No, she didn't know what was going to happen with Finn, but she was a skilled athlete herself, and even back at the beginning of senior year, she'd known her kids. Puck didn't see any point in lying to her about this.

"Not really," he said. "I wish he did, because he could use a little boost in confidence, but I don't think Finn's going to play football again after this season."

"No?" Now she did look up, gazing at him steadily. "He could play college ball. Maybe not quarterback, but he's a solid player."

"He wants it too much." Puck hadn't realized until the words slipped out how bitter they were going to sound. He tried to backtrack. "I mean, he's good and all, and I think he's been a real good leader in the past. But right now, I just think he's having trouble figuring out what he should be doing."

"You mean, with his life?"

Puck shook his head. "He knows what he wants to do with his life. He's always wanted it."

She sat back and regarded him. "Wanted what?"

"To make a difference. To be... important, to somebody who otherwise wouldn't have had that." _Like Rachel,_ he thought. He tried to smother the images in his mind of Rachel and Finn doing anything naked.

"Huh." Beiste looked thoughtful. "Funny to think that a guy who's got that much heart would need more proof that he's important. But hey, he's your best friend; you know him better than anyone."

Puck suddenly found himself blinking hard. He wasn't going to start crying in the middle of the Coach's fucking office for no reason. "Yeah, well, he always wanted everything to mean something. Nothing was ever casual with Finn. It was always a big deal, or nothing."

"'Was ever?''

"Huh?"

She was still looking at him steadily. "You said nothing _was ever_ casual. So what's it like now?"

"It's... the same. I mean, he's the same guy he always was. Nothing's changed." He shook his head. "I'm such an idiot."

Now she grinned. "Like you said, nothing's changed."

"Oh, thanks," he muttered, but he grinned back. But when he turned to go, she stopped him.

"If Finn's not going to play ball after he graduates, he's going to need to figure out what he _will_ be doing. And I can't think of anybody better to help him figure that out than you."

"Me?"

"Yeah, you. Far as I can tell, you've never steered him wrong before. I think there are lots of people waiting to take advantage of Finn, because he's the good guy. But you see him for who he is. You're not trying to make him into something he's not. He could use some of that this year."

Puck had to shake his head. "You do know I'm barely passing most of my classes? What kind of help do you think a guy like me can give a guy like Finn?"

"I think you already know the answer to that, punkin." She turned back to her pile of paperwork with an absent wave. "I gotta get caught up here. Stupid bureaucracy."

Finn had basically avoided him for most of the day. Not that Puck blamed him. So Puck sat with Mike and Tina at lunch and went to play rehearsal without exchanging more than three words with Finn. He told himself it shouldn't have felt like such a hardship to spend twenty-four hours without talking to Finn, considering they'd gone months like that in the old timeline.

_But now I know the endgame,_ he thought, watching Blaine and Rachel circle one another from the wings, waiting for his cue. _Now I know how many days we've got left if things don't change. It's not going to be enough._

Being on stage was both cathartic and depressing, because it just made Puck think about the dancing that Finn had been doing in Glee since he'd had that breakthrough with Kurt. He flung himself into the ensemble numbers, watching Santana and Mike and Brittany working their magic, all the while carrying the regret that Finn wasn't there doing it with them. It was easy to blame himself, to say, _fuck it, it's just another way Finn's distancing himself from his friends._

But after dinner, his phone rang, and it was Finn. Puck picked up right away. "Yo."

"Rachel's in the other room. I'm supposed to be making dessert, but..." Puck heard Finn took a shaky breath. "I'm freaking out. And Kurt's at that gay bar with Blaine and I don't know who else to talk to."

Puck scrambled up from the Monopoly game he was setting up with Sarah, waving away her questioning look as he retreated to the relative privacy of the hallway. "Hey, I'm your best friend. You talk to _me."_

"Yeah?" Finn sounded so tentative. It was starting to piss him off.

"Yeah. What's Miss Diva Berry doing now?"

"She's trying to get me to have sex with her."

Puck unsuccessfully stifled a snicker. "_Rachel?"_

"Look," said Finn. Now he was exasperated. "I need to talk this out with someone, and I'm not going to do it over the phone. I'm going to take Rachel home, and then I'm coming back here. Are you going to be asshole Puck, or can I count on my best friend Noah?"

It was enough of a slap in the face that Puck managed to mutter something affirmative before hanging up. He apologized to Sarah, promising her a rain check on Monopoly and a bonus get-out-of-jail-free card the next time they played, and hurried out to his truck.

But when he arrived at the Hudson-Hummel house, Kurt's Navigator was sitting in the driveway. Kurt was in the driver's seat with the window down. As Puck approached, he realized Kurt was crying.

"Uh," he said, feeling uncomfortable. Kurt immediately wiped his eyes and put on a wounded expression, and Puck added, "I can go."

"No." Kurt straightened his shirt, putting both hands on the steering wheel. He sighed. "I'm just feeling sorry for myself, and... it's completely pointless. I should have expected something like this would happen."

"Something like what, exactly?" Puck asked. "Finn said you and Blaine were out at the gay bar tonight. I'm just wondering what's up with the waterworks."

Kurt sniffed. "_Blaine's_ idea of a good time apparently involves dancing with another guy all evening - a guy who's demonstrated clear interest in him, I might add - and making sloppy drunk moves on me in the back seat of the car. I mean, I knew when he said he wanted to wait to have sex that he was lying, but I didn't expect him to be so - so _awful."_ There went the tears again.

"I'm sorry," Puck offered, although it sounded empty and hollow to his own ears. "I'm sure you'd love nothing more than to go into your house and do whatever it is you do that perks you back up. But I just got a SOS call from your brother about Rachel." He paused, not exactly sure how to continue, and settled on guilt. "He's not in a good place to see you like this, because he'd probably fly off the handle to try to protect you and do something we might not be able to bail him out of." Puck stared at Kurt meaningfully. _Your brother is likely to beat Anderson to a bloody pulp at this point_ was what Puck didn't want to have to say.

Luckily, Kurt seemed to be self-aware enough to pick up on this. "You think I should find someone else to cry on, is that what you're saying?" He looked at Puck more closely. "And since when do you care about what Finn does with Rachel?"

"I care," Puck said, stung. "He's - maybe I don't want him to make the same stupid mistakes I made."

Kurt put the key in the ignition and started the Navigator again, and Puck took a few steps back from the window. "Well, good luck. When people are in love, they make all kinds of stupid mistakes. I don't think you're going to be able to keep Finn from doing that."

Puck watched him drive away. He waited on the front porch until Finn returned in his mom's sedan. Finn's expression as he parked and approached Puck was wary, but he let him hold the door open and followed him into the house.

"So," asked Puck, trying for casual, "is this an ice cream sort of conversation, or a six-pack sort of conversation?"

Finn smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I think it's more of a sit me down and tell me I'm not insane kind of conversation. I mean, Jesus." He sighed. "I was right in there, in front of the fire, we had a blanket on the rug, and... she would have done anything I wanted. _Anything."_

Puck doubted that was true about Rachel Berry, but he wasn't going to argue with Finn about how much _anything_ there was out there. "Okay. So why didn't you?"

"Because I want it to _mean_ something. Not for it to be about the play, or about improving her acting, but about _us._ About _me._"

Finn was gesturing with his hands, looking so serious, and Puck realized with a start just how _huge_ Finn's hands were. Which was _not_ the track his mind should be going down at the moment. He closed his eyes to try to clear the images. "What does the play, and her acting have to do with the two of you having sex? You're not even in the play."

Finn sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. "I know. I think it was something Artie said to her. She and Blaine, being in character... Tony and Maria, each of them wanting the other person so much. Like it physically hurt them, not to be that close with the person they loved. I think she felt like she _should_ know what that was like in order to be able to pull off the part."

_Shouldn't she know that already? _Puck thought, although he had enough brains not to say it out loud. Instead, he said, "You and I both know she loves you, dude, the best way she knows how. And we know how insane she gets about giving a _perfect_ performance. Don't let this be anything more than just her usual brand of crazy - which you admittedly love." Puck tried to smile.

"I do," Finn agreed, smiling back. At these close quarters, even in the ordinary light of Finn's living room, it was hard for Puck not to have a whole incredible range of stupid feelings about that smile. "I just... I don't think she should be settling for that. I wish I hadn't. She deserves the fireworks, the romance, the perfect first time. And tonight... that wasn't going to be it."

Puck nodded, and managed to ask, "You, uh. You wish you'd had that?"

"Maybe. I mean, i don't think I care about the roses and the music and all that stuff, but I wish..." His voice trailed off, and he sat there looking at the floor until Puck reached out and nudged him.

"What?"

Finn grimaced. "You aren't going to laugh?"

"Probably," he said, very gently. "Just tell me."

"I wish I'd known. What I wanted. Like, I still don't even know. I know how it works and how it's supposed to feel and - I guess I've only barely done enough to realize now that there are definitely things I _would have _liked better."

Finn was blushing madly, but Puck wasn't going to harass him for it. He was barely able to make words come out of his own mouth. "Yeah? You don't think you could ask Rachel for some of those things? Maybe talk to her about it, before you guys get naked? Find out what she wants too?"

"_No,"_ he said. "I really don't think I could. And I think... I think that tells me something. I think she just expects me to know. I'm the leader, I've done it before. She expects me to be perfect."

Puck let out a brisk sigh. "Well, I can't make it perfect, but at least I can help you with that stuff. You're going to want to go into that first time having some idea of what to do to make a girl really, really happy. And I'm just the guy to tell you."

Finn was staring at him with this fascinated, horrified and ultimately hopeful look on his face. "You - you'd do that?"

"Sure." Puck clapped him on the shoulder. "Anything for my bro."

* * *

Puck was putting on his makeup for the dress rehearsal when Kurt pulled up a stool right next to him, much closer than he normally would sit. Puck gave him a baleful glance. "Yeah?"

"What exactly is your problem?" Kurt demanded, in the kind of whisper that everybody in the entire room could hear clearly.

"Well," Puck drawled, "I'm thinking you might be talking to the wrong dude. I'm the guy who has zero problems."

"What did you and Finn talk about the other night?"

"His shoe size. Come on, Kurt, I'm trying to do my eyeliner. This is fucking impossible."

Kurt leaned back, staring at him expectantly in the mirror as Puck tried to keep his eyelid from crumpling. Finally he gave him an exasperated sigh and plucked the pencil out of his hand. "First of all, you should be using _liquid_ eyeliner for the stage. And this is brown; you need black for Bernardo. And you're putting it on way too close to your eye. You're not dressing up for the club; this is stage makeup."

Puck let Kurt swivel Puck's stool around to face him, while he focused with deadly precision on outlining his eyes with the correct tools. "Ow!" He winced as Kurt pressed hard with the pencil. "That hurts."

"Don't be a baby. And hold still."

Puck set his mind to ignoring what Kurt was doing as best as he could and sat there. "So if you have to know, he came back to me to tell me Rachel was trying to make the moves on him, and-"

"What?" Kurt's exclamation didn't even try to be sotto voce. Half of the rest of the cast looked over at them with curiosity.

"I'm not finished. He didn't, because he thought she was just doing it to play a better Maria, and not necessarily because she wanted to sleep with him. And you can imagine how that went over with your brother. Because he _still_ plans on doing the nasty with her."

Kurt squinched up his face and shook his head, like he was trying to deny the existence of a Finn who had sex with Rachel. "I really don't want to think about it."

"Tell me about it," Puck said heavily. "Yeah, but I was an asshole to him the first time he asked me for advice, so... I figured I should be cool about it."

"And were you?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I think I actually was."

Kurt stopped applying makeup for a moment and looked at Puck. "Why do you care?"

"You asked me that before. You're really all that surprised that I care about my best friend?"

"It's just not the type of friendship I thought you had," Kurt shrugged, moving to the other eye. "Things seem... different. Did something happen this summer? I feel like I was spending so much time with Blaine, and Finn with Rachel, that I barely even saw him."

"I don't know. Like I said, I noticed I wasn't being a very good friend."

It was impossible to ignore the way Kurt was looking at him when he was holding very still like this, but Puck did his best. Kurt's eyes looked preternaturally blue. As soon as he could, he backed away from Kurt's probing hand with a muttered _thank you._ For a minute, he'd been reminded of the eyes of the guy in New York, the one without a name who'd let him pretend it was Finn he was fucking. Puck didn't want to think about those eyes, or that guy, or really anything about that humiliating encounter.

The dress rehearsal was terrible, but Artie and Mr. Schue made sure to let them know that that was normal, and it had no implications for opening night. And it turned out they were right. Opening night began without a hitch.

That was, until Puck spotted an absolutely ecstatic Rachel backstage, glowing and sparkling like a star, gushing over the flowers Finn had had delivered even though he was at the football game. It simply reminded Puck that there was nothing Finn wouldn't do for Rachel. And seeing her like this, Puck didn't know if Finn would be able to resist her. It made the entire performance, the whole evening, seem hollow and pointless.

_What the hell am I working so hard at this for?_ he thought, watching all the Jets file out of the dressing room for the second act with a sense of futility. _This isn't my future, and it isn't Finn's either. Why the fuck are we here at all?_

He did his part anyway. He danced the shit out of Bernardo, and smiled until his face hurt, and stood up on stage and bowed with the rest of the cast while the audience cheered. He accepted hugs and congratulations from any number of nameless, faceless people. Then he escaped into the dressing room, where he scrubbed his face clean and abandoned his costume, and finally snuck out the back of the auditorium to sit on the hill overlooking the football field, alone.

Puck sat there long after the assembled crowd had gone home, and the cast had dispersed to their various parties. He assumed somebody would spot him there eventually, but when he turned to look at the person trudging toward him through the grass, it wasn't who he'd expected it would be.

"Hey." He stayed where he was as Rachel sat down beside him. "I thought for sure you'd be with the rest of the cast, partying all night long."

She gave him a wan smile. "Yeah, well, it turns out I'm not the party all night type."

"Maybe you would be if you had the right guy."

Rachel took it exactly the way he expected she would. "Noah, you're very talented, and certainly good-looking, but... my heart belongs to somebody else." She turned to look out over the empty football field. "I never thought I'd feel so disappointed on the opening night of my first big musical."

"You did great, Rachel."

She nodded. "The play, it was wonderful. But I didn't get what I wanted."

He wasn't going to ask her for details, but he was a little ashamed at how glad he was to hear that. He just shrugged. "Maybe it'll turn out better next time."

"I don't think so," she said wistfully. "I think... you only get one chance at things like this."

He tugged on her arm until she faced him again. "And I'm here to tell you, with a hundred percent certainty, that that's not true. If you're willing to fight for it, you can get a second chance. Maybe even more than one."

"I hope you fight the good fight, Noah," Rachel said, shoving her hands into the pockets of her cape. "You deserve a second chance too."

He didn't watch her leave, but he heard her footsteps crunch on the gravel until the parking lot was quiet again. Then he flopped back onto the grass, looking up at the overcast sky. It was warm and muggy enough to still feel like fall, even though November was rapidly waning.

He didn't even hear Finn approaching until he was standing directly over Puck, peering upside-down at him from an impossible height. Puck scrambled up to a sitting position and stared at him.

Finn held up the six-pack he was carrying. "Okay to celebrate?"

"Sure," he blurted, accepting a can from Finn's hand. He busied himself with opening it and drinking half of it as Finn sat down in the same spot Rachel had occupied. "You... really feel like celebrating tonight? With me?"

"That is a very interesting question." Finn drank his own beer, propping his long arms on his knees. "Not about some things, that's for sure. For example, did you know Cooter Menken didn't even look at me once when I was out on that field?"

"I didn't know for sure," Puck said honestly.

"Yeah. And when I got back into the locker room, he basically told me I should give up on this dream and find something else. Fat chance of that happening."

"Hey, fuck 'em. College ball doesn't match up all that well with Rachel's dreams for New York, anyway."

"I think I should feel worse about the other thing. The thing with Rachel." Finn looked over at Puck. "But I don't."

Puck's mouth was almost too dry to speak, but he nodded. "No?"

"Like I was telling you, about the perfect first time, and figuring out what girls want - and about what _I_ want. And I decided, yeah, if I wasn't going to be sure that's what I wanted, that thing with Rachel, I shouldn't try to do it with Rachel."

If this had been anybody else, Santana or Britt or Rachel or a Cheerio or practically _any_ other person he'd ever tried to sleep with, Puck would have said something clever, and then she would have laughed (or slapped him) and then he would have leaned over and kissed her, and it would have moved on from there. But this kind of feeling, the one he was having right at that moment, made him realize what it might be like to be actually_ paralyzed_ with indecision. "Um."

"What I'm trying to say is, I don't think I feel bad about Rachel not being perfect for me. I could probably live with that." Finn stretched out on the grass, his enormous sneakers resting just inches from Puck's. "But, I don't know, you made me question if I should. Like, maybe I could have... the perfect second time, and now I'll know it for sure when it happens. I won't need to ask my best friend or my brother for advice."

Puck wondered, with cascading panic, if Finn was going to keep saying words that were going to make him completely unable to function. But Finn seemed like he was done for now, and after a moment, Puck added a quick, jerky nod before opening another beer.

They sat there, drinking and not talking for what felt like hours. It wasn't awkward; they'd never really needed a lot of words to fill in the silence. But there was still something, and it made Puck feel like his skin was pulled a little too tight. He had no idea how to bring it up, not with Finn, but it was absolutely present - and he was pretty sure he wasn't the only one feeling it. In a way, that made things feel even more impossible.

_Leave it to Finn Hudson to hit on the one thing about sex I still feel inadequate about,_ he thought, leaning back on one elbow and downing his fourth beer. _Kind of. Considering we've already done stuff. Only we haven't yet, and at this rate we probably never will. _

That just made him annoyed. He glared up at the stars, glistening through the clouds like miniature fires, taunting him with the voluminous catalog of regret he had when it came to Finn. _You failed the first time,_ they seemed to say. _Don't let it happen again._

"Puck?"

"Mmmm?"

Finn's hand landed on his shoulder, with less intent than blind luck, pulling him into a wobbly half-hug. "Thanks for being here."

"On the grass?" he asked, wondering what he was going to do with Finn this close to his face.

"All over the place," Finn clarified. "For being my friend all over the place."

It turned out that Finn, that close to his face, turned his head so that Puck's chin connected with Finn's lips, and there was a small gasp that Puck wasn't sure came from him. He made an effort to position his lips a second time so that they would touch Finn's chin, just to see if somebody made that same noise again.

"Oh," said Finn, sounding bewildered.

"Yeah," Puck agreed. "I want to be... all over the place."

He put his beer down so he could hold Finn steady, letting his lips make contact with other bare patches of his skin. At some point, he swung a leg over Finn's, not really to hold him down, but to get better leverage, and Finn let him. He was letting Puck do everything. It was enough to make Puck worry, even though Finn's reaction to Puck's lips on his neck and his temple and his cheek was undeniably positive.

"Are you thinking I should stop?" Puck asked at last.

"What?"

The reaction on Finn's face to that question was equivalent to _Are you fucking crazy?_ Puck choked back a laugh. He leaned forward, aiming for one particular target now, but instead of claiming it, he waited, his breath mingling with Finn's, feeling the heat of it, for several long moments.

"Are you," asked Finn, the words making little explosions on his skin, "wanting to stop?"

Puck was all set to give an answer, but before he could, Finn had closed the distance between them, the touch of their lips accelerating from gentle to urgent to bruising in seconds. Kneeling over him, straining into the kiss, Puck could have gotten off from the sound of Finn's amazement alone. He wanted to say, _this is that thing, that thing you were talking about, about two people who need to touch each other so much that it hurts when they're not doing it. _

Instead, he said, "Your hands. Under my shirt."

Finn didn't hesitate, groaning into Puck's mouth when his cool hands made contact with Puck's heated skin. He wasn't exactly gentle, but Puck didn't need him to be. Instead, Puck reveled in the feeling of Finn's hands on him, almost like he was branding him.

"You didn't have sex with Rachel," Puck said.

"No." Finn gripped him more tightly, and Puck let Finn feel the pressure of him against his hip. Finn groaned again.

"You're not going to have sex with Rachel."

Puck didn't stop to decide if he was asking a question, or stating a requirement, or making a desperate plea. It was enough that Finn shook his head, pressing his lips to Puck's neck as he whispered _no, no, I won't._

His adrenaline was riding so high that when he heard the hissing sound, he thought it might be an animal, getting ready to attack. Puck leapt back from Finn just in time to get a spray of cold water from the automatic lawn sprinkler full in the face.

"Mother _fucker,"_ he roared, and Finn staggered to his feet with a shout of protest. Sprinklers were being triggered all around them. They both ran to the edge of the grass, away from the offending spray, and stood there for a few seconds, dripping and laughing hysterically.

"That," Finn said, trying to catch his breath, "was not how I expected that to turn out."

Puck had all kinds of jokes about _spurting liquid_ on the tip of his tongue, but he decided he wasn't in any position to say them. Instead, he tugged Finn after him. "Come on. My truck's over here. I'll take you home. It's, like, the middle of the night."

But when Puck started his truck, the clock read only a few minutes after eleven. They shivered on the seat, separated by a gear shift and awkwardness, until Puck put it into drive and aimed it toward Finn's house. It took way too short a time to get there, but Puck wasn't going to tell Finn that all he wanted to do was invite him in so he could keep touching him.

"Are you, uh..." He focused on the water droplets in Finn's hair. "Are you coming to the show tomorrow night?"

Finn took a few moments before nodding. "I wouldn't miss it."

Then he got out of the truck and walked into the house. Puck sat there, watching him go, feeling like a complete idiot but still not willing to let go of the other feelings that went along with that one. Some of them were physical, like the tingling of his skin, and the shivering, and the enormous boner that wasn't showing any sign of subsiding, but mostly they were inside him. He wondered how he was ever going to figure those feelings out out if they just stayed in there all the time?

Eventually he did drive home, took a warm shower, and put on a clean pair of boxers before climbing into bed. It didn't take long before his hand was inside those boxers while he pictured another three-minute fantasy session involving Finn's dick - but this time was different. This time it was actual memories of Finn Hudson's huge hands resting on his stomach, and his lips touching Finn's chin, and the sound of Finn saying _oh,_ that carried him through into sleep.

* * *

_Don't wanna wait til tomorrow,  
__Why put it off another day?  
__One more walk through problems,  
__Built up, and stand in our way  
__One step ahead, one step behind me  
__Now you gotta run to get even  
__Make future plans, don't dream about yesterday, hey  
__C'mon turn, turn this thing around_

_Right now, hey  
__It's your tomorrow  
__Right now,  
__C'mon, it's everything  
__Right now,  
__Catch a magic moment, do it  
__Right here and now  
__It means everything_

_Miss the beat, you lose the rhythm,  
__And nothing falls into place, no  
__Only missed by a fraction,  
__Slipped a little off your pace, oh,  
__The more things you get, the more you want,  
__Just trade in one for the other,  
__Working so hard to make it easier  
__Got to turn, c'mon turn this thing around_

_Right now, hey  
__It's your tomorrow  
__Right now,  
__C'mon, it's everything  
__Right now,  
__Catch that magic moment, do it  
__Right here and now  
__It means everything_

_It's enlightened me, right now  
__What are you waiting for  
__Oh, yeah, right now_

_- Van Halen, "Right Now"_


End file.
